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Under a Cloud. 



By Jean Kate Ludlum, 


Author of “Under Oath.” 


ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

'Ledger library. 

). 40 . 


NEW YORK 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 
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The Forsaken Inn. 

By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. 

ILLUSTRATED BY YIOTOR PERARD. 


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reader until he has reached the last line of the last chapter. The 
scene of the story is the Hudson, between Albany and Pough- 
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V 









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Works by, 

JEAN KATE LTTDLTTM:. 

UNDER OATH. 12mo., 337 pages. 
Illustrated. Handsomely bound 
in cloth, price, $1.00. Paper 
cover, 50 cents. 

UNDER A CLOUD. 12mo., 300 
pages. Illustrated. Handsomely 
bound in cloth, price, $1.00. 
Paper cover, 60 cents. 


UNDER A CLOUD. 

f • » . 


^ Novel. 



Jean Kate Ludlum, 

II ’ 

Author vf Under Oath.^* 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

PUBLISHERS. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY : ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 40^ 
JULY 1, 1891. entered AT THE NEW YQRK( N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER, 



COPYBIGHT, 1891 , 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 


PRESS OF 

THE NEW YORK LEDGER, 
NEW YORK* 



UNDER A CLOUD. 


CHAPTER I. 

A LIGHT SNOW-FALL. 

ELLO !” 

For an instant a shadow fell 
upon the handsome face of the 
young man pausing upon the 
crumbling stone wall, one leg 
over, the other about to follow, 
when he uttered this exclama- 
tion. A rifle was poised lightly 
over one broad shoulder, and the blue hunting- 
suit he wore showed to the best advantage his 
slender, well-built figure. 

“ Hello !” was the half-laughing rejoinder, as 



8 


Under a Cloud. 


another young man appeared in the hollow 
beyond the wall. A light snow had fallen, and 
no path was discernible through the scraggy 
bushes. Hello, Hilton! You fellows have a 
fine day for the rabbit-hunt. Bagged anything ? 
Where are the others ? It’s a deuce of a shame 
that I couldn’t join you, but — ” He shrugged 
his shoulders suggestively, as he held out his 
hand to the young man on the fence. 

For the space of a breath, Hilton did not claim 
the outstretched hand. There was a peculiar 
expression in his blue eyes and a sudden com- 
pression of the lips under the blonde mustache. 
Then he laughed half-constrainedly, and accepted 
the proffered hand. 

Yes, the day is fine, Chesney,” he replied, 
with assumed carelessness. “ This light snow 
makes it fine for the rabbits, but the animals 
themselves — 

Chesney laughed in great amusement. 

‘‘After all, Hilton, perhaps the fellow who 
could not take time for hunting because of a 
business engagement, is as well off as the fellow 


A Light SiiowfalL 


9 


who couldn’t hunt because the rabbits wouldn’t 
come out.” 

Then a swift change came over his face. His 
eyes, always keen in the presence of this man, 
were peculiarly so now. A frown marred the 
frank, good-natured face. 

“ By George !” he said, with sudden vehe- 
mence. “Hilton, you may thank your lucky 
stars that your business relations do not bring you 
in contact with such persons as those with whom 
I have just been. Old Hardman — I told you 
about him, you remember, when I wrote you 
fellows sending my regrets — it was with him my 
engagement has been. I wrote you that, too. 
He’s the miserliest of misers ! Diogenes, without 
philosophy, living in an old tub of a house, with 
a lantern of greed, seeking every honest man’s 
money. I always have the creeps when with 
him. So grasping, you know. A man might 
expect his old, thin fingers to close pretty tight 
about his throat if there could be any money 
obtained. Ugh! And that niece of his is a 
veritable Delilah. Deuce take them I I feel 


lO 


Under a Cloud. 


lowered in my own estimation whenever business 
brings me in contact with them !’* 

“You said you had some disagreeable business 
to transact with him, I remember,” said Hilton, 
slowly, — a strange slowness for this man. “ You 
described it very graphically in your letter. 
Some distance back here, isn’t it? You 
described it pretty thoroughly.” 

Chesney laughed. Then a frown crossed his 
face. 

“Yes,” he said, half angrily. “A mighty dis- 
agreeable business his always is I can tell you, 
Hilton ! He’s a man I would fear if there were 
just cause against me with him. He would have 
no pity. And — he’s afraid of me, of mey think of 
it!” 

The young man laughed now — his own old 
cheery laugh that made him such a pleasant fel- 
low, and pushed the snow aside with one boot, 
as though so he would push away any shadow 
from their conversation. 

“ And it was for him — so you wrote — that you 
must give up our party, Chesney. Why didn’t 
you let him whistle for you until to-morrow, 


A Light Snowfall. 


LI 


any way? You would have enjoyed the hunt 
extremely/’ 

“ Even without the game !” said Chesney, 
easily. “ But you see, Hilton, we business men 
cannot do as we Avould ; we have to yield to the 
wishes of our clients a little. We have his 
affairs, my partner and I, and, as he demanded 
my presence upon important business, I had to 
come. That is business, you know.” 

Silence for a moment. Somewhere, deeper in 
the woods, a squirrel uttered his short, staccato 
bark. A scurry of light, biting wind swept 
down through the long aisles of birch and oak, 
crackling the dry leaves upon the gray boughs 
and whirling a slight glitter of snow from the 
ground around and around their feet. Save for 
these noises, there was almost the coldness and 
hush of death in the great, lonely woods. The 
sky was very blue overhead ; the snow was 
spotless as it stretched away as far as the eye 
could reach, save where the marks of each man’s 
footsteps cut down to the moss and dead leaves 
beneath. 

The silence was growing awkward for both. 


12 


Voider a Cloud. 


each instinctively recalling how much the other 
had to do with his life, and it must at once be 
broken or leave them in its power. 

“Well," said George Chesney, feeling this 
weight upon them, beating his hands swiftly and 
hghtly together that they should not become 
benumbed by the cold, the shadow that seemed 
reflected from his companion’s face lifting from 
his own — “ well, this is an insinuating wind, Hil- 
ton. I must be off to Nyack. I walked through 
the woods from Nanuet to old Hardman’s house ; 
a pretty long walk, to be sure, but for a fellow 
like myself, who is shut up all day in the office 
or in some stuffy court, it is a regular outing, 
you see ! I’m not so hard to please as you fel- 
lows who have no one’s wishes to consider. Of 
course, necessity is the master of the world’s 
arts, they say; having walked to Hardman’s, I 
am obliged to walk from there !’’ 

“ You wrote you would walk and might possi- 
bly meet us here,’’ Roy Hilton said, this strange 
uneasiness upon him. “We hoped this would 
be the case, but I seem to be the only fortunate 
one.’’ 


Light Snowfall. 


13 


“And how does this happen?” queried Ches- 
ney, easily. “Where are the other fellows? 
Ten of you there are, I think? It’s a shame I 
couldn’t join you, but so the fates decide for and 
against one. Taken right out of my hands, you 
know! Maybe the old lady — Justice, of course 
— is blindfolded ; but it seems to me she falls 
upon one fellow over and over again, as though 
she had some special spite against him, and knew 
instinctively which was he, even if she couldn’t 
see. Perhaps I believe too thoroughly in fatal- 
ity, Hilton. You’re a steadier fellow, and have 
no such light ideas.” 

Roy joined in his laughter. A darkness set- 
tled in his eyes as they rested upon the frank 
face opposite. His lips looked almost cruel, 
shut close as they were under the blonde mus- 
tache. Then he swung himself clear of the wall 
and faced about. In that one instant of turning, 
he conquered whatever emotion set that change 
upon his face. He laughed easily, also; and 
his eyes, in their new expression, were pleasant 
to see. 


4 


U7tder a Cloud, 


“ There’s a fatality that shapes our lives, I 
believe, as well as you, Chesney,” he said. 

“ Not without our own motives behind them, 
but still running straight on in any given line 
and impossible to avoid. Perhaps this will be 
proved to you when I say that here am I lost 
from the others, and the only one to meet you, 
when we all hoped to have that pleasure.” 

A new expression swept over Chesney’s face. 
A shadow darkened his own eyes. For an 
instant, he bit his lip savagely, as though to 
avoid making some reply other than he would 
allow himself to utter. 

“ A mutual pleasure,” he then said, quietly. 

I had no thought of meeting you here, Hilton. 
When you spoke, I at first thought it might be 
one of those mysterious warnings that our medi- 
ums tell us of. I’m not a medium. I’m merely 
explaining my sensation at the moment. It’s 
absurd.” 

And you’ll say that I am absurd, also,” said 
Roy Hilton, lightly, swinging the rifle down 
from his shoulder and resting the butt upon the 
ground, one hand upon the muzzle. “ I think it 


A Light Snowfall, 


15 


absurd myself since meeting you so accident- 
ally.” 

Chesney lifted his head with a sudden move- 
ment of suspicion. Was there intentional 
emphasis upon the last word ? He was not a 
suspicious man, but his life and the strange, 
unpleasant relation existing between himself and 
Hilton, caused him to be sensitive. Then he 
shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 

In what are you absurd, Hilton ?” he queried, 
carelessly. “ One wouldn’t expect you to utter 
such sentiments, and they need an explanation.” 

“ Why — ” there was a strange restlessness 
upon Roy Hilton, as he ground the impression 
of the rifle-butt deeper and deeper into the snow 
and dead leaves — “ why, to tell you the truth, 
Chesney, I believe I’m lost! We fellows were 
up on a ridge where the undergrowth was 
pretty thick, and we disagreed regarding the 
traces of rabbits, and, as I was in the utter 
minority of one, I turned off to the right to put 
my ideas into practice and justify my claims, 
leaving the others to go in the opposite direc- 
tion. We were to meet at the break in the 


i6 


Under a Cloud, 


woods back on the Nyack turnpike ; but when I 
came to search for that spot I failed to discover 
it ; and — here we are !’' 

George Chesney laughed heartily. There 
was always a constraint upon these two men 
when in each other’s society, but they struggled 
against the feeling as being unmanly, and both 
were manly men. 

“ Here we are — yes,” he said ; “ and here I was 
to be, as I think I wrote you ; but what j^ou are 
doing here is another thing. Explain yourself. 
It’s rather absurd for Roy Hilton, our crack shot, 
to be lost among the Ramapo Hills within two 
miles of Nanuet.” 

“ But you must remember,” Roy Hilton took 
him up hastily — neither could bear interference 
from the other — “ that the Ramapo Hills might 
better be the Wind River Mountains for me. 
There I would be on familiar ground ; here, I am 
lost.” 

“ However — and I say it with regret, remem- 
bering what brought me here — all this country is 
familiar to me^ Hilton, and if you choose to come, 
Til show you the way to the Nanuet station. 


ROy LIFTED HIS RIGHT HAND WITH A PASSIONATE GESTURE.-.S’ee Page 21. 












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A Light Snowfall. 


17 


You can take the New Jersey and New York 
Railway from there to the city, you know. If 
you don’t show up, the fellows will think that 
you have gone on home. They’d never believe 
that Roy Hilton was lost when rabbit shooting.” 

Both men laughed pleasantly, and the sound 
ran lightly along the silence with a ring of good 
comradeship and life, in the quiet woods. 

Far down in the distance the chattering 
squirrel broke the white silence, and another 
whirl of wind sent the crisp snow eddying around 
their feet. 

“ The only objection to your suggestion is,” 
Hilton said, after a moment’s thoughtfulness, 
“ that I agreed to meet the fellows at the edge of 
the wood, and I would not like to go on home 
without them, Chesney. They might linger here 
searching for me. Besides, I promised, you 
know.” He smiled — and Roy Hilton’s smile was 
good to see. Why should I break my word ?” 

Chesney shrugged his shoulders lightly. 

“It wouldn’t be Roy Hilton break his word,” 
he said. “ I cannot blame you, my dear fellow. 
Only — do not again go from the path. A night 


i8 


Under a Cloud, 


in these woods wouldn’t be the most agreeable. 
I understand them thoroughly. I warn you !” 

Roy nodded. A slumbering fire woke in his 
eyes, a peculiar flush crept to his cheeks; he 
pulled at one end of his mustache, awkwardly. 

“ By the way,” he said, nervously and with 
hesitation, as though he would not needlessly 
wound his companion, I think you did not ask 
about my wife, Chesney. She is well — she is 
always well, you know. I hope ” — and now the 
hesitation made words almost harsh — “ I hope 
that you will come down to us — soon, my dear 
fellow. We must not — you and I — be other than 
friends. Here ” — he held out his right hand, 
that nervous left hand still upon the rifle — “ here 
is my hand, Chesney. Take it, and let it bind 
our friendship.” 

The frank good-nature died from Chesney ’s 
face. The gray eyes flamed with angry fire. 
The head was lifted with a swift haughtiness 
that could match even Roy Hilton’s old blood. 
A pallor struck the sternly repressed, proud face, 
and set the lips stiffly. Involuntarily his hands 


A Light Snowfall, 


19 


fell, clenched, to his side. A man in the height 
of his pride — the shield to a sore heart. 

‘‘ Hilton,” he said, steadily, though there was 
an unnatural hoarseness in his usually clear 
voice, and the stern lips could scarcely articu- 
late as he would have them. “ I bear no ill-will 
toward you more than I would toward any man 
who held the place toward myself that you 
hold. The race was ‘free. You won her. I 
lost. I have yielded to fatality. But this I must 
say — you shall hear me now that the opportunity 
has come to speak — that I had an equal chance 
with you. She was kind to me until you came. 
We were lovers always up to that time. I 
A^ould not recall old scenes and memories. 1 
would not wound you or my own honor enough 
to speak of the things that have gone. She was 
a woman who would be just and generous. I 
can be no less than the same. She is, too, a 
woman, and must choose for herself whom she 
would bless with her love. Only — and until 
you spoke I never thought that I would say this 
^only, remember ; she was promised to me 
until you came and won her away ! That I con- 


20 


Under a Cloud, 


cede. But there is this much that you must 
yield to me ; that she loved me once. She 
would have been my wife to-day had you 
remained away ! And now this subject must 
die forever between us ! The memory belongs 
to me. Until I have conquered memory 1 
demand that silence shall rest upon it. No man, 
especially yourself, has the right to touch upon 
it ! And until I can say that the subject is not a 
sad one to me I cannot permit myself to accept 
such an invitation from you — and her T 

He was remarkably handsome as the fading 
glow of sunset struck through the trees, and, 
flushing the snow around them, touched even 
the human faces marked with bitterness and 
pride and passion. 

A frown was growing blacker and blacker 
over Roy Hilton’s face. His blood was proud 
and hot, and swift to take offense, strive as he 
would to restrain his passion for the sake of his 
manhood. He drew his tall figure proudly erect, 
and his lips took on a haughty curve, his eyes 
black with the intensity of his emotion. 

“That, as you well say, Chesney, is for you to 


A Light Snowfall, 


Q.\ 


decide/' he said, between his lips. “ I am bound 
to respect your pride, but I must also — and I, 
too, have the right to demand — that you shall 
not again speak of my wife — my wife^ remember 
— in the terms of your old relations with her. 
That she chose me instead of yourself was her 
prerogative. The right has forever gone from 
you to speak of her — even to think of her — other 
than as another man’s wife. She would scorn 
you if she knew — ” 

Chesney started forward, as though he would 
strike the man before him in his swift fury born 
of the last words. His eyes gleamed at this that 
was to his wounded heart an insult. He was 
white to the lips, but he clenched his hands and 
conquered his anger. Then he spoke, and his 
voice was such as no one had ever before heard 
from George Chesney. 

“ Hilton!" he exclaimed, under his breath, as 
though he must keep down even his words, lest 
they conquer him and throw down all barriers of 
manhood. ‘‘You are going too far, Hilton. 
Because Helen Stuart chose you — " 

Roy lifted his right hand with a passionate 


22 


Under a Cloud, 


gesture, his face matching in pallor that of his 
companion. His eyes burned blackly. 

“ I refuse to even hear her name from your 
lips at such a time as this,” he said, with a steadi- 
ness born of intense self-repressipn. “ I have 
done my best to hold you my friend in spite of 
this that has come between us ; but now — ” 

But now I” retorted Chesney. Now I 
demand that you let this subject die utterly out, 
Hilton. When I have lost memory, we may 
speak of it. Not now.” 

There was a rustling of the bushes near at 
hand, and a woman’s face peered through, but 
neither man saw or heard. The broad cart track 
ran along beyond the hedge of bush and brier to 
the right, and those passing through the wood 
from the main road in Nanuet used this rough 
road. 

“ And I tell you,” exclaimed Roy Hilton, start- 
ing forward, his eyes upon the other, his hand 
raised, clenched above him — “ I tell you here and 
now, Chesney, that I will not bear one more 
word from you upon this subject! It is an 
insult to her as well as to myself, and any man 


A Light Snowfall, 


23 


who dares breathe insult to her may hold his life 
cheaply when in my hands. Her honor is more 
to me than all the world. I would avenge any 
lightest word against her without the least hesi- 
tation. Remember that.” 

“ So !” whispered the woman behind the 
thicket, a gleam in her eyes. She shrugged her 
shoulders suggestively, and turned away. 
“Jealous, eh? And that’s Lawyer Chesney, 
too ! Smart man ; but I wonder that he doesn’t 
make a charge against the other, and so gain a 
pretty high damage. But these folks in high 
life are so mighty afraid of their honor !” 

She laughed contemptuously and disappeared 
in the thickest of the woods. 

George Chesney did not reply to Roy’s last 
words. He dared not speak lest his passion gain 
the mastery, and he would not yield to passion. 
He was a splendid fellow, in spite of his natural 
carelessness. He stood facing his rival quite 
motionless for a few minutes. The pallor faded 
and flushed and returned to his face. His teeth 
were shut down fiercely over his lips. He kept 
his hands at his sides resolutely. 


24 


Under a Cloud. 


Then, as though still he could not speak, he 
breathed deeply, biting his lip, and turned away 
down the path that soon hid him in the distance. 
A crisp silence remained. Even the squirrel was 
still. The wind had died away as the sunset 
glowed and flushed. 

“ Dastard !” murmured Roy Hilton, presently, 
between his stiff lips, his eyes mechanically 
falling upon the rifle which he still grasped so 
fiercely, his face betraying the struggle passing 
within between his mad passion of rage and 
jealousy and his strength of nobility — jealousy 
wakened at the thought that any man should 
dare think of his wife as this other man had 
dared. He to tell me to my face that he has 
not yet placed that memory behind him, as any 
man should do !” 



CHAPTER II. 

A STRUGGLE WITH SELF. 

Roy had forgotten where he was. Still stand- 
ing where George Chesney left him, his eyes 
now turned along the darkening path, now bent 
moodily upon his boots, his thoughts were of 
the past and of the future. Of the past 
when, just graduated and left to the care of 
guardians, he took up his life with a zest and 
impulse natural to him. He had no special 
vocation in life but to be a true gentleman, and 
live up to the pride, the nobility of character 
and kindness of heart that descended to him 
through a long line of stern old Knickerbockers, 
one black vein among the high-born blood. 

And this black vein was a jealousy in love 
that was almost insanity — among some of his 
ancestors had even developed into that malady. 


26 


Under a Cloud. 


Knowing this well — for the old Knickerbocker 
Hiltons were proud of their genealogy, and kept 
their history alive — Roy did all in human power 
to strengthen his character against this black 
enemy of peace ; but it lived too long and ran 
too strong through the generations to yield to 
one man’s will. 

Standing in the silence of the woods, Roy 
•Hilton realized this, and involuntarily groaned, 
with a swift gesture of despair at the futility of 
his effort. He had traveled, not aimlessly, but 
that he should gain better knowledge than books 
could give, and with a widening appreciation of 
humanity, not as a people, but as individuals. 

He was eight-and-twenty, and a high-souled, 
cultured gentleman when he returned home and 
met Helen Stuart. She was a cultured woman, 
graceful and gracious, with a soul, perhaps, not 
so broad as his own, because lacking contact 
with the world, but a noble woman’s soul, never- 
theless. 

He loved her. He met many women as 
beautiful, cultured and gracious, but Helen 


A Struggle with Self, 


27 


Stuart was the first woman whom he loved — and 
with him to love once was to love always. 

Helen Stuart had many suitors. George 
Chesney was most favored among them. He 
and Helen were children together ; he was her 
boy-lover even then. The Stuarts had a coun- 
try-seat at Nyack. The Chesney s made this 
beautiful riverside town their home, spending 
little time in the city, even during the season. 
George only was in New VTork a great deal as 
Helen's recognized escort. Naturally, they 
drifted into an understanding, if not an actual 
engagement. She admired him, and having 
no awakening as to the height of a life bright- 
ened by love, she mistook sentiment for passion. 
He loved her and his love was as intense as 
Roy Hilton’s. But Roy Hilton came — and won. 

Theirs was not love at first sight. With 
either of them that was impossible. There was 
an intensity and a depth in Helen’s character 
and Roy’s that could not be awakened at a touch. 
They became friends ; afterward, lovers. 

But when Roy Hilton let love into his heart, 
he also opened the road to that demon of jeal- 


28 


Under a Cloud, 


ousy ";hat spoiled many a life among the genera- 
tions gone before him. He knew it had always 
been so, but trusted that with him, struggling 
against it as he had, it might be different; but 
the stain on a glass cannot be washed out by 
one pure drop. He was as insane as any among 
those stern forefathers, for the time, with the 
thought that another man held love in his heart 
for his wife — his wifel Helen Hilton was to be 
thought of by no one but as his own. That this 
man struggled to conquer his love could not 
drown the truth. He loved her, and loved her 
still. This demon, lying latent in his blood, 
grew stronger and blacker the more he thought 
of it. It rested so equally between them, which 
should win, that George Chesney might have 
been in his place to-day but for ‘‘ fatality.” That 
other man, with his handsome face and debonnaire 
manners once claimed Helen’s love, had given 
her his own— nay, gave it to her still! That 
other man — 

He bit his lip savagely, and a flush swept the 
pallor from his face. His finger-nails cut reck- 


Through the White Silence, 


29 


lessly into the palm of his hand as it fell clenched 
at his side! 

He raised the rifle suddenly and swung it to 
his shoulder ; wheeling upon his heel — his face 
set like marble — not in the direction pointed out 
for him to take, but in George Chesney’s very 
footsteps. His eyes were stormy and yet won- 
derfully sad with this bitter, biting struggle 
between a noble soul and a demon born in the 
blood centuries past. 

The snow crushed under foot, stirring the 
dead leaves beneath, leaving his course well 
marked in the footsteps of the other. 


CHAPTER III. 

THROUGH THE WHITE SILENCE. 

As for Chesney, his thoughts would have 
matched Roy Hilton’s in their tumult and fever 
but he fought against love that was so long in 
his life that it could not be torn out at a 
moment’s bidding without also ending life. He 


30 


Under a Cloud. 


fought against love, knowing that his manhood 
and honor demanded this ; but though a mighty 
enemy to his peace, it was in no other phase 
comparable with the demon centuries old that 
rose full-statured that day in his successful 
rival’s heart. 

The struggle was bitter ; the pride in his 
blood cried out against the truth that was forced 
upon him as an insult from the man who should 
have been his friend because of his nobility and 
victory ; but, in spite of his anger and humilia- 
tion and pride, he knew — and knowing softened 
his heart — that his friend was both generous 
and just. There was that height of manhood in 
each that forced recognition from the other. 
Meeting under other circumstances, their friend- 
ship would have been lasting and deep. 

The first flush of his anger was dying out. 
He recalled, for he was just, the qualities that 
made his friend so dangerous to his happiness. 
He slackened his pace as his excitement cooled. 
Once he paused and glanced around upon the 
solitude. A dry twig somewhere near crackled 
and broke, making a sharp sound in the silence. 


Through the White Silence. 


3 ^ 


He turned quickly, his face lighting, almost 
hoping it were his friend coming in his gener- 
osity to take back his words, so granting him 
the opportunity to make amends for his own 
haughtiness. But nothing followed, nothing lay 
behind him but his well-defined tracks in the 
light snow. 

Nothing ? 

“ It’s a long walk after all from Hardman’s 
old house in these woods to Nanuet,” he said, by 
and by, as he walked on more slowly, the semi- 
darkness ^of a snowy night thickening around 
him. He was no coward. He liked such soli- 
tude as that when in his disturbed mood, but he 
was restless. Then he laughed, and his face 
cleared of its sadness as he said, lightly : 

“ Thinking of my life’s ghosts makes me super- 
stitious. I shall be glad to resume the society of 
my fellowmen. Old Hardman’s impression 
upon me, too. If ever there was an old sinner, 
he is one ! He knows I am beginning to see 
through his sharpness, and he has no love for me.” 

Was there any one in the bushes back there 
that the dry twigs crackled so? The cart-track 


32 


Under a Cloud, 


was just to the right, and that was the usual 
cross-cut from Nanuet to the Nyack turnpike. 
Perhaps some one was passing that way and 
would bear him company. He would be rather 
glad of companionship. It might be the hunt- 
ing-party not far off, though he caught no sound 
of voices. Friend or stranger, he would take up 
with him rather than walk the rest of the way 
alone. He stopped and turned his pleasant face 
toward the dry thicket that hid the view of the 
cart-track beyond. 

“ Hello !” he said, cheerily. “ Anybody there? 
If so, comrade, let’s go on together. It’s a trifle 
ghostly in this place alone.” 

A pleasant laugh that of his. A pleasant face 
turned toward the thicket in the gathering 
gloom. A light step, full of life and strength of 
purpose and pride of manhood, sounded upon the 
lightly lying snow, as he started across to the 
thicket. Life and light and youth and deter- 
mination to be noble embodied in him. 

******* 

A half-hour later, Roy Hilton, in his hunting- 


The Gathering Cloud, 


33 


suit of blue, a good deal the worse for briers and 
thickets, his rifle in its case, his face very white 
and determinedly set, boarded the train for New 
York at the Nanuet station, some dozen or so 
idly curious eyes gazing after the handsome 
stranger with the haughty air. At that very 
moment, out in the white silence of the woods, 
what was it lying motionless and lifeless upon 
the snow, under the whispering trees behind the 
thicket? Did the footprints lead to that? 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE GATHERING CLOUD. 

“ By the Lord Harry, you fellows, I believe 
we’re in luck at last !” exclaimed a good-natured 
voice, as a young man struck into the cart track 
from the deeper woods to the right, a gun rest- 
ing carelessly over his shoulder, the game-bag at 
his side pretty fairly filled, as one or two gray 
cottony tails in view mutely proclaimed : 


34 


Under a Cloud. 


“ Here’s an open track, as good to see after the 
briers and brambles as the Appian Way.” 

“ It’s your luck, Whitney ; you’re always in 
luck,” said another young man, dashing out into 
the open path with a plunge through the 
thicket. “ If it isn’t anything more than a hunt- 
ing-suit, you are always in it.” 

Hear! Hear!” cried half a dozen laughing 
voices; and with considerable confusion and gay 
words and laughter, some half-a-score of young 
men crowded out into the path. All good-look- 
ing, good-natured, wealthy fellows, in high 
spirits after the day’s fair sport, the fading light 
through the woods glinting now and then along 
their rifle-barrels or touching some one face 
among them into relief against the dark back- 
ground of trees and thicket and falling of night. 

“ It’s a mighty odd thing, though,” said the 
first speaker, after a moment, as they crowded 
on together in a group of nine, his handsome 
face turned back toward his companion, grave 
with anxiety. It’s a mighty odd thing where 
Hilton is! We’ve hallooed until we have no 


The Gathering Cloud. 

o 


35 


voices left, and he hasn’t so much as breathed a 
note in answer, to our knowledge.” 

“ In all probability he has had our good for- 
tune to find this track and gone on to the rail- 
way station,” suggested one of the party, more 
assurance in his voice than in his face, although 
the deepening gloom hid this from the eyes of 
his companions. 

" That is like you, Chadwick,” said the young 
man nearest him, with a shrug of his shoulders. 
“ Always choosing the easiest way out of trouble ! 
I never did see such a fellow !” 

“ Better luck next time, then !” said Chadwick, 
laughing. He glanced suspiciously, though 
stealthily, from left to right, where the snowfall 
made ghostly phantoms of tree and bush and 
brier. A good-natured, easy-going fellow 
generally, but now indefinably impressed by the 
darkness of the woods. 

“ By the shade of brave Robin Hood, but we 
sound like a band of robbers,” said another of the 
party, lightly. “We haven’t bagged anything 
but rabbit and quail ; but it’s been a good day, 
after allr" 


3 ^ 


Under a Cloud. 


“ Unless we’ve bagged a mysterious disappear- 
ance !” added his companion on the right. “Itw 
rather strange that Hilton couldn’t find the 
trysting-place, Graham. Hilton’s no fool, and he 
would never get lost in these woods.” 

“ He has been here only once before, you know, 
Manning,” said a young man, calling from the 
rear of the party. It is possible, if not probable, 
that Hilton has strayed somewhere hereabout.” 

“ Lost, strayed or stolen !” Graham retorted. 

Let’s set it up on a board. The natives will 
think it a sheep !” 

Or a dog,” suggested Chadwick, at random, 
this strange depression upon him. 

“ Or a cow. That is the way they advertise 
lost property, isn’t it ?” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Whitney, quietly, and 
the joking fell off at the gravity in his voice as h^ 
met Jack Graham’s amused glance, “ it isn’t like 
Hilton to break an agreement. If he has gone 
on, it is only under peculiar circumstances. He 
may have gone to the place, you know, and 
waited a reasonable time before going on. It 
isn’t Hilton’s way to fall back on his word.” 


The Gathering Cloud. 


37 


“That’s so,” acquiesced Manning, as gravely 
as Whitney had spoken. “You’re right there, 
Frank. Hilton wouldn't do it for a lark; he 
never trifled with his honor even at college, and 
he wouldn’t begin now.” 

“ No,” said Frank Whitney, steadily, swinging 
his rifle from one shoulder to the other, the 
darkness now so low upon them that no face was 
clearly to be seen. “ No. It isn’t Hilton’s way, 
Manning.” 

Silence through the dim woods. The crunch- 
ing of their feet over the snow, the occasional 
sharp click of a twig against their rifles, or a 
swish as a bough fell back as they passed on, broke 
the wide hush. Somewhere, far in the distance, 
a hound bayed. The shriek of an engine pierced 
the solitude as a train thundered along at the far 
edge of the wood. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, with crush and crunch 
of the softly lying snow upon the leaves and 
rough ruts of the track. Conversation died, and 
uncomfortable anxiety replaced it. They knew 
quite too well that something out of the ordinary 
kept Roy Hilton from meeting them at the break 


38 


U7ider a Clotid. 


of the woods at the edge of the Nyack turnpike. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, and a rustle and crackle of 
underwood and brier. How very still and 
mysterious the woods were, stretching away 
upon both sides, and only opening definitely 
ahead where lay the little town. 

“ It has been a good day, but I wish Hilton 
were with us instead of mysteriously disappear- 
ing,” said Chadwick, discontentedly, as they 
struck into the road at the edge of the woods, 
the railway station in sight, though still some 
distance away. 

And it has given us the blues to a man, 
tramping through that murderous wood in the 
darkness,” said Graham, restlessly, though with 
apparent unconcern. 

“What is the row, I wonder?” added Nelson, 
to one of the others, as they neared the station, 
where an excited group was collected. “ The 
price of corn gone up, I should think, judging 
from their eagerness, or the failure of some- 
body’s potato crop.” 

“ Don’t be ridiculous. Nelson,” advised Man- 
ning, slapping the game-bag slung over his 


The Gathering Clotid, 


39 


shoulder in a self-satisfied way, as they stepped 
up on the lower end of the platform. 

“ There isn’t so much as a shred of hope on 
potatoes this year, you know. That’s hopelessly 
gone by.” 

“ Anyhow, it’s something that makes them a 
little extra to-night,” said Chadwick, confi- 
dently. “ They’re pretty easy-going in ordi- 
nary.” 

“ A mighty sight too much something,” retorted 
a bystander, overhearing this remark. “ It’d be 
as well for some folks if it wa’n’t always neces- 
sary lor something to be the matter on such 
occasions, stranger.” 

“ What is it, friend ?” queried Graham, good- 
humoredly. “ Nothing serious, I hope ?” 

That’s accordin’ how it’s took,” was the sul- 
len answer, as the man eyed the group suspi- 
ciously. “ If ’twas me in his place. I’d feel pow- 
erful ’fraid folks ’d take it hard.” 

He considered this a joke, and laughed 
roughly, turning away, when another man inter- 
posed : 

“ Mebby they’re his friends, Jim,” he said, 


40 


Under a Cloud. 


persuasively. “ There ain’t no use in bein’ hard 
on ’em if they didn’t do it.” 

“ Do what?” queried Nelson, amusedly, think- 
ing the man merely boorish and sullen. 

Jim shrugged his shoulders significantly. 

A deed I wouldn’t care to be accused of,” he 
said, sententiously. “ Murder ain’t a special 
pleasant thing no ways you ken fix it, an’ there 
ain’t no doubt that this is murder.” 

Excitement took the place of careless good- 
humor in that group of young men. Murder at 
any time rouses curiosity and indignation and 
horror. Under their fear for their absent friend 
the news came upon them startlingly. 

“ Why the devil don’t you explain ?” demanded 
Graham, in sudden fierceness. ‘‘ If it isn’t a joke, 
be sensible, man !” 

The man grumbled, but complied: 

“ The body was found in the snow just 
beyond the thicket, at the side of the cart 
track,” the man explained, concisely. “ One of 
old Hardman’s farm-hands found it, on his way 
from the town to the old house in the woods, 
just at dusk. Been dead no longer than an 


The Gathering Cloud, 


41 


hour, the medical man said. Murder, undoubt- 
edly. There was a rifle-ball straight though his 
heart. A near aim, too. Some one firing from 
the thicket — no further, for the clothing was 
burned around the wound." 

They were intensely excited, those young men 
just in from their day’s pleasuring. Their faces 
were blanched with dread of what might be 
made known in the next words. Their absent 
friend was uppermost in their minds. 

The man who was giving this news as they 
hastened along the platform and across to the 
store where the body had been carried, knowing 
nothing of their anxiety, continued his descrip- 
tion. 

“ It’s bad enough for him,’’ he said, signifi- 
cantly, with a nod in the direction they were 
going, “but it’s worse for the other feller. We 
see him go off on the train not more’n a half-hour 
after that. Mebby you know him,’’ glancing 
sharply at the group around him. “Tall, he 
was, an’ a good bit handsome, dressed like you 
fellers. Blue eyes, fair hair an’ mustache. He 
was white an’ powerful uppish in manner, an’ 


42 


Under a Cloud. 


proud as though he was a-treadin’ of us down. 
Seemed in a mighty hurry to be off. Had a rifle 
along of him an’ a game-bag. Pretty black for 
him, there ain’t no doubt. They’d had a 
quarrel, some says. Old Hardman’s niece heard 
’em as she was cornin’ through the woods. The 
dead man’s her uncle’s lawyer, you know. 
Chesney is — ” 

Whoi^?'* thundered Frank Whitney, stop- 
ping short and turning upon the speaker in such 
a fury of horror and dismay that the man fell 
back involuntarily, raising his hand as though he 
feared a blow. “ What ! What do you mean, 
man ? Speak up ! Chesney dead, you say — 
murdered ? And who is suspected — ” 

His voice died out in very horror. His face 
was pallid and drawn. The same fear seemed to 
have fallen upon his comrades. 

“ Horrible !” he muttered, turning away 
toward the station, as though he dared not face 
what lay lifeless and still in the store just over 
the way, his companions following him, save 
Manning and Graham. “What shall we do, 
friends? Chesney is murdered — ” 


Helen, 


43 


They knew his fear. All of Roy Hilton’s 
friends knew the circumstances of his love affair. 
They knew, too, his passionate temperament, and 
dared not utter words, lest they speak unadvis- 
edly, and silence be best. 


CHAPTER V. 

HELEN. 

Helen Hilton sank down laughing in a chair 
opposite her mother in the latter’s dressing-room, 
lightly clasping her slim, white fingers around 
one of the cushions against which she leaned so 
gracefully and luxuriantly, her large brown eyes 
half-closed in lazy enjoyment. 

“ I declare, mamma, I am tired almost to 
death,” she said, in her soft, musical voice, her 
parted red lips showing the glimmer of pearly 
teeth within. “ Carlie and I were shopping all 
the morning. We met some of the girls, too, 
and formed a party to drive in the Park this 
afternoon; and while we were driving in the 


44 


Under a Cloud. 


Park — I love every step of that old Park, I 
believe, Mamma Stuart — we decided to go to 
the theatre to-night, if our escorts are not too 
utterly fatigued after the hunt. A grand time 
they have had, no doubt — men do so enjoy 
hunting out poor little harmless rabbits and quail 
and things — but it always seems an eternity when 
Roy is away for an entire day. He spoils me, 
you know.” 

She laughed softly, and unclasped her fingers, 
to turn them recklessly through the dainty curls 
on her forehead. A beautiful woman in truth ; 
not spoiled, but rendered somewhat careless of 
the world beyond her world, by her own success 
and happy life and ease. Her husband adored 
her. Nothing that money could buy did she 
desire and not obtain. She was the only child 
of the proud old Stuart house, and although her 
parents were given over to society and its least 
demands, yet they loved and were intensely 
proud of this one exquisitely beautiful daughter. 
Her social success and alliance with a house as 
old and blue-blooded and proud as theirs 
increased their perfect satisfaction in her. 


Helen, 


45 


Mrs. Stuart smiled with proud pleasure upon 
the animated face among the stuffy cushions of 
the huge arm-chair. She was a beautiful 
woman herself, her white hair under an atom of 
lace, her brown eyes still bright with spirit and 
fire, her haughty face strangely softened toward 
the small woman opposite. 

I think Ro}^ spoils you because you are so 
much of a child, Helen,” she said, laughingly. 
She was toying with a polished ebony hand-mir- 
ror. Her maid was but just gone, dismissed 
after arranging her mistress’s hair, that the two 
should not be interrupted. The atmosphere of 
the room was heavy with the fragrance of toilet 
waters and perfumes. After a moment, the 
slender little figure rose from the huge chair and 
crossed to the long, lace-draperied window. 

Let me open the window one moment, 
mamma,’’ she said, her hands upon the sash, her 
smiling dark eyes resting upon the older eyes of 
the same hue. I am suffocating. Your rooms 
are always so sweet with odors, that it is like 
being smothered in flowers. Too much of any 
good thing, you know — The thought of flowers 


46 


Voider a Cloud, 


is delightful, but if one is to be smothered with 
them, it is death just the same. May I open it, 
mother rnia f 

“ Since you have taken to summering in the 
Adirondacks, you are a fanatic about air,” said 
Mrs. Stuart, calmly. She allowed nothing to 
disturb her equanimity. Worry or impatience 
spoiled one’s expression and smoothness of face. 
Perhaps her calmness accounted for the perfect 
baby softness of her face. “ Open the window 
if you wish, Helen ; but remember that it is late 
November weather, and slightly chilly.” 

Helen laughed, and shrugged her prettj^ 
shoulders. A comical pucker wrinkled her 
brows. Her dark eyes looking out from this 
elaborate wrinkle were merry and bright. She 
knelt at the opened window inhaling the crisp 
air. 

“ It is so good,” she said, solemnly. “ Maybe 
it is cold, but one must have air in winter as well 
as in summer, chere mamma. See ! So 1 clear 
away the dead, close atmosphere of the shops, 
that let new blood into my heart against Roy’s 


Helen. 


47 


return. I like always to be at my best with 
him.” 

“ You are a spoiled child,” said her mother, 
with unusual fondness. “ Now close the win- 
dow, Helen. It is time to dress for dinner. 
You will dine with us and let Roy come on 
here — ” 

“ Oh, no, no !” Helen interrupted, hastily. She 
closed the window, after a last deep breath of 
the clear outer air, and crossed to one of the 
mirrors to arrange her bonnet — a scrap of a 
thing in reds and browns that rested upon her 
beautiful hair as though it loved it. She pushed 
up to the last correct point the long, loose wrists 
of her tan-colored Suede gloves and nestled her 
soft dimpled chin in the long hair of her boa, 
shrugging her shoulders, glancing critically side- 
ways into the mirror to see that her coat sat 
well. A beautiful, proud, bewitching woman, 
conscious of her perfections and imperfections, 
with the capabilities of making a noble woman 
should her life rouse the latent power within the 
soul looking out of those great, dark, shy, proud 
eyes. 


48 


Under a Cloud. 


“ Now, Mamma Stuart !” She turned from 
the mirror quite satisfied. “ I must hurry on 
home. I walked here, you know. I was so 
tired of the carriage, and the air is just right for 
walking. I wish Roy had invited me to join the 
hunt. I would have gone fast enough, and Carlie, 
and dear little Kit and some of the others, only 
men never think how we would like a share in 
such of their pleasures. The lords of creation 
sometimes overlook the ladies in their magnifi- 
cence !” 

She laughed merrily and touched her mother’s 
beautiful hair with her light fingers, stooping to 
kiss her. 

^^Aii revoir, mother mine ! You will be at the 
Carletons’, I presume ? We will go there after 
one or two scenes — after seeing the Kendals at 
their best, you know. I so admire that woman !” 

She flitted away as though in truth she belonged 
to the crisp, bright outer air, and not the heavy 
atmosphere of the luxurious room, her skirts 
rustling softly down the polished oaken staircase, 
her face like a picture in the mellow light of the 
hall. Passing on tO‘ the library ere leaving the 


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COME IN,” HE SAID, “LITTLE ONE. WHEliE IS ROY?”— /See Page 49 




Helen, 


49 


house, she tapped lightly upon the closed door, 
holding back the rich, heavy drapery before it. 
Then, pushing it open, she stood, a bright vision 
upon the threshold. 

De Witt Stuart was sitting before the glowing 
grate-fire, his slippered feet upon the fender, 
reading the evening paper, one or two that he 
had read fallen to the floor. He raised his eyes 
from the news columns as his daughter paused in 
the doorway. His cold blue eyes took on a 
warmer glint. He smiled speaking to her. 

“ Come in,” he said, “ little one. Where is 
Roy ?” 

“ Gone with the hunting-party, you know, 
papa.” 

“ Oh, yes,” nodding gravely. “ I remember, 
now. Come to the fire. It is chilly to-day, 
Helen.” 

She shook her bright head merrily but 
resolutely. The dimples were coming and going 
in her cheeks. The fire reflected itself in sparkles 
in her eyes. The mellow glow from the reading- 
lamp fell upon her father’s white head and 
touched her face tenderly. 


50 


Under a Cloud, 


“ But, indeed, I am not cold, papa,’' she said 
gayly, smoothing the long ends of the boa with 
her restless fingers, still standing in the door- 
way. “ I am never cold, you know ! If Stanley 
ever undertakes the North Pole instead of Afri- 
can wilderness, I shall join the expedition ! 
Only,” her laughter and bright words were 
good to hear in the great darkened room, “ only 
I should be tempted to remain with you, if I 
yielded to your invitation. Papa Stuart, the fire 
is so pretty ! I just stopped to say good-bye. 
Good-bye, Papa Stuart, untill we meet at Mrs. 
Carleton’s ! It is almost time for Roy, and I 
must hurry. I wouldn’t have him come with- 
out being home to meet him !” 

DeWitt Stuart nodded, smiling upon his 
daughter. 

“You will spoil Roy as he has spoiled you,” 
he said, in the kind and gentle voice only this 
one person ever heard. 

She laughed and ran away along the hall and 
out at the big doors, closing them softly behind 
her, and hurrying along the streets as crisp and 
bright and beautiful as the descending night. 


The A rrest. 


51 


her warm heart pulsing with pride for the man 
she was hastening to welcome as she welcomed 
always his return, never dreaming of the threat- 
ening cloud lowering above her. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE ARREST. 

After the news was made known through 
the village that George Chesney had been found 
murdered in the woods between Nanuet and 
the Nyack road, and that a handsome stranger, 
apparently much excited, had been seen to come 
from those woods in a hunting-suit, with a rifle 
in its case, and take the train for the city, there 
was too much excitement to clearly remember 
what had taken place. There was no doubt that 
the news spread wildly ; that the coroner was 
called ; that he impaneled a jury, and that the 
verdict was the unmistakable fact that the man 
was dead, and that he met his death “ under 
suspicious circumstances.” 


52 


Under a Cloud. 


This last was the arrow that struck at Roy 
Hilton’s honor. He was a stranger there ; he 
was seen to leave the place under strong excite- 
ment ; he had been seen by old Hardman’s niece 
quarrelling with the dead man in the woods, not 
a half hour previous to his death ; the wound 
was made by a rifle ball ; there was but that one 
round, and it was fired from the thicket border- 
ing the cart track from which the stranger was 
seen to emerge from the woods. This^statement 
led to a telegram, sent to the city, ordering the 
stranger’s detention at Jersey City, for which 
place his ticket was purchased. An officer was 
sent down to bring him back to Nyack to await 
further developments, or bring back such proof 
of his innocence as must overbalance the strong 
circumstantial evidence against him. When the 
officer made known his errand and took him 
into custody, Roy’s first impulse was to strike 
down the man where he stood, for daring to 
charge him— him, Roy Hilton, with such a 
crime. But he placed a stern restraint upon his 
anger, and memory of the afternoon’s meeting 
and what followed returning all too vividly upon 


The Arrest, 


53 


him, the hand impulsively raised in self-defense 
fell clenched at his side, and the strange pallor 
upon his face during the journey only deepened, 
as he put his teeth down sharply over the groan 
that rose to his lips. He staggered for an 
instant, stricken by the weight of the truth 
against him. Then he drew himself up proudly, 
all the strong old blood of his line cpming to his 
aid, and signified his willingness to return with 
the officers to the little town among the hills. 

Justice followed so sharply upon the deed that 
he was stunned, thinking of it as they were 
whirled over the Northern road a half-hour 
later. He would not try to free himself from 
the charge until such time as should call for 
accusation and justification. He would not 
even ask if his friends had been heard from, or 
to send a message to his wife. The crime 
charged upon him was so black and so clear 
that he would bear it alone as long as he could. 
It was bitter, degrading. He would keep it 
from his wife and friends until necessity made it 
known. 

“ They will know of it soon enough,” he 


54 


Under a Cloud, 


groaned to himself, his elbow upon the window- 
sill of the car, his chin in his hands, his eyes, 
half prouu. half pathetic, wholly steady in their 
gaze, staring out upon the whirling scenery. 
One of the officers in civilian dress sat with 
him ; the other occupied the seat behind. He 
was not handcuffed. In that they were gener- 
ous. There was something about the man that 
commanded respect in spite of the charge 
against him. The men had seen too much of 
life to be easily soft-hearted, but they were not 
unjust. Men in as high life as he had been 
charged with murder before, but they would not 
be harsh. Circumstances were black against 
him, but, as yet, he was not proved a murderer. 

How swiftly the time flew between Roy’s 
arrest and their arrival at the Nyack depot, yet 
an eternity of sorrow and pain passed over his 
soul. He bore himself just as erect and manly, 
his eyes never flinching from the gaze of those 
they met. He looked as handsome and proud 
and noble walking between the officers, as ever 
he looked in his life. But appearances deceive 


The Arrest. 


55 


oftentimes, the people said, gossiping later, and 
bravado sometimes goes for a noble pride. 

The hunting-party were awaiting him at the 
station-house. He feared this would be the 
case, but did not flinch from the meeting. For 
an instant the color flamed into his face and then 
gave place to a more deadly pallor. 

“ 1 did not think to meet you — so,” he said, 
quietly, his voice perfectly even, though he 
refused the outstretched hands of his friends. 

Who guessed this morning what would come 
with the night? And — ” his eyes, darkened with 
a nameless shadow, turned to Frank Whitney’s 
kind face. '' And George Chesney is dead — 
murdered — these men tell me — murdered — by 
me! Do you believe me guilty, Frank — you, 
my old chum ?” 

Whitney silenced him. A flush came into his 
face. He laid his hand on Roy’s arm, the others 
pressing about him. The officers were with- 
drawn, though near at hand. There was power- 
ful influence to bear in Roy Hilton’s favor and 
already it was felt. 

Believe you guilty ? Of course not, Roy 


56 


Under a Cloud, 


my dear fellow !” said Frank Whitney, deci- 
sively. “ We will prove your innocence, never 
fear. But for the present — just for the present, 
Roy, it is best to say little. We have done what 
we can — now. By and by we will do more. 
All in good time, dear old fellow — all in good 
time !” 

“We will stand by you like a company of vig- 
ilants, we fellows, Roy !” declared Jack Graham, 
in his pleasant voice, not to be put off in his 
determination to grasp the prisoner’s hand. 
“ Look here, now, none of this, Hilton ! I’ll 
swear by you till my last gasp, so you may as 
well give us your hand on it !” 

“ Your heart is good and strong, Roy, old 
boy,” added Joe Manning, as heartily as he 
could command himself to speak. “ Don’t let it 
fail you. We’ll get you through without a 
scratch !” 

“ Our sentiments, down to the last man, Roy,” 
added Clarence White, in hearty corroboration. 
“ These fellows here will do their best for you, 
and we’ll pull you through as soon as we can. 
Don’t you lose an atom of heart !” 


Befo7^e the TriaL 


57 


And so it was that proud Roy Hilton, in the 
height of his manhood and pride and birth, was 
branded with suspicion of murder and held to 
await his trial, the evidence so strong against 
him, even his warmest friends growing sick at 
heart fighting for proofs of his innocence. 


CHAPTER VII. 

BEFORE THE TRIAL. 

Three weeks went by between that November 
day and the day set for trial. Money hurried 
this on, and money engaged the most skillful 
detectives to work up the case for proofs in his 
favor ; and the law did everything that could be 
done CO trace the murder to its true source ; and 
still there could be but one verdict. 

Never, Roy told himself, had events so 
crowded into such a short space of time, or such 
clear proofs risen as to the murderer. 

“ How does my wife bear this?” he asked 
Frank Whitney, his counsel, when he came to 


58 


Voider a Cloud. 


him one day — the day preceding the trial. 
“ They have done well to keep her from here. 
Her coming could do no good, and would only 
be an unnecessary sadness to both of us. You 
are her friend, Frank. Tell me truly, how do 
her people take this disgrace ?” 

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders with 
affected lightness, and laughed genially, but his 
client was not to be so easily deceived. There 
was a shadow in the kind brown eyes that told 
Roy Hilton as clearly as words that all was not 
well, assure him as his friend would that such 
was the case. He forgot his own danger in this 
dread for his wife. 

You are not to talk of this affair as disgrace, 
Hilton,” Whitney said. “We will bring you 
through all right. We are working like beavers, 
and believe in you so firmly that no one could 
doubt you ; and when once you are out of this 
who could hold suspicion toward you ?” 

“That is not answering my question, Whitney,” 
retorted Roy, sternly. There was a haggard 
look upon his face that struck a chill to his 
friend s heart ; a restless light in his eyes, born of 


Before the TriaL 


59 


the confinement and the suspicion. “ You need 
not tell me that Helen is true. She could 
never be other than herself, under any circum- 
stances. Even had I done this thing — ” his law- 
yer started at the swift change on the pale face 
— even had I done it, and he her friend and 
mine, she would be true to me. She could not 
doubt me. It is of her people I ask. They 
would sooner see me dead — far sooner, as you 
know — than bring disgrace upon their proud 
name. That has been the one bitterest drop of 
all this bitter; and it is bitter, Frank Whitney, 
beyond your knowing.” 

The lawyer’s face changed strangely, as he 
stood behind Roy’s chair. 

This confinement is making you gloomy — 
you, the jolliest fellow going, Roy,” he said ; 
and he laughed, with strange restraint upon 
voice and expression. “We must get you out 
of here to-morrow. Rest assured that there is 
not another night for you in this room. Your 
friends have the utmost faith in you, believe 
me.” 

The young man rose, locking his hands behind 


6o 


Under a Cloud. 


him, as though with this touch of evil upon him, 
he could not meet the frank hand of his friend. 
The haggard expression deepened upon his face, 
in the faint light of the small room, where the 
lamp flared fitfully behind its smoky chimney. 
His eyes were larger than usual with the trouble 
that dawned in his heart : as though, his friend 
thought, watching him, he saw some terrible 
thing before him that must cloud his life. 

“ Frank,” he said, hoarsely, drawing himself to 
his full height, and he was perfect in physique, 
this young man charged with the murder of his 
rival — “ Frank, I ask you a plain question. I am 
not a child. Being a man, I trust I can bear 
what comes to me as a man should. You need 
hold nothing back. What will be the end of 
this? But tell me — my wife! my wife! What 
is death compared to her happiness? If it 
should be proved that I murdered Chesney, that 
in a moment of passion I took his life ” — how 
restless and bloodshot those eyes were, and how 
strangely set and strained was the face ! — 
“ would it always stain her name as well as my 
own? Can nothing erase the blood from the 


Before the Trial, 


6 


hand that may have done the deed in a moment 
when comprehension of what was done was 
beyond control? Such things do occur. Must 
she — if it goes as I know you fear it must — will 
she have to bear the shame, too, Frank ?” 

His voice died out utterly. His lawyer 
crossed the couple of feet of space between 
them and reached out his hand to lay it upon 
the other’s shoulder ; but Roy would not admit 
that. With a haughty uplifting of the proud, 
fair head and a squaring of the broad shoulders, 
he stepped back beyond his friend’s reach, his 
eyes flashing with a new fire, his lips set sternly 
under the blonde mustache, to ward off the 
other’s approach. 

“ Frank Whitney,” he said, with a strange 
coldness, as though only so he could hope to 
retain his self-control, “ there is no need of 
words between us. Your face tells me the truth 
as well as words could do. 1 have little fear of 
death ” — how he lifted that haughty head, and 
how those eyes flashed, and what an altogether 
magnificent air there was about him ! — “ I think 
I can bear it as well as most men ! But, come 


62 


Under a Cloud, 


out of it as I may — well or ill — and there is little 
hope of the former — my wife — ” 

The other interrupted him quietly. There 
was an answering fire in his eyes that proved 
that he was not the man to be easily silenced 
when once he had made up his mind to speak. 
He advanced upon his friend and would not be 
put off. Very quietly, but with infinite kind- 
ness, he laid his two hands upon the other’s 
broad shoulders and met the flashing blue e)"es 
with his steady brown ones. They read each 
other’s thoughts. Then Roy spoke more 
steadily. 

“ Frank,” he said, and his eyes did not falter, 
looking into those of his friend, “ if trouble 
comes to us two through this strange accident 
of fate, I give it into your hands to make clear 
the road to her happiness ! I don’t know why I 
have this feeling — I would call it absurd in any 
one else — but I am firmly convinced that we 
have been too happy, Helen and I, for it to last. 
I’m not usually sentimental. I think I have as 
level a head as most men. But I hold such love 
in my heart for my wife as is almost idolatry. 


Before the Trial. 


^3 


It is too deep to last without trial. I could ” — 
he still stood up straight and tall and handsome, 
in spite of the haggardness of his face — “ I could 
in truth stain my hands with murder to keep 
any touch of evil from her ! Do not start. I 
tell you the truth. Laugh at me if you will. 
You never proved what a woman’s love is to a 
man. To me it is more than life — Helen’s hap- 
piness !” 

Again the strange pallor upon his face that so 
discomforted Whitney. He started at once as 
though he would prevent his uttering the reck- 
less Avords, but restrained himself. As a lawyer, 
he told himself often, he had proof enough that 
marriages were not always made in heaven ! 
And where was supreme love there must also be 
supreme jealousy ! He knew it true of his friend, 
and his self-control left him for a moment ere he 
spoke, his voice quite steady and strong with 
faith. 

“ My dear fellow, I believe that you and your 
wife are two of the happiest people in the world. 
To-morrow you shall, if there is power enough 
in the law, be given your freedom and return to 


64 


Under a Cloud, 


your home and your wife. You have grown 
gloomy, as I said, shut up here !” 

He was turning away when Roy stopped him. 
There was a flush on his cheeks, and a faltering 
in his voice. 

“ Frank !” he said holding out his hands to- 
ward his friend and counsel, “ there is only this 
that I have to request : keep Helen away from 
here if it is in your power. I — I think 1 could 
not bear that she should see me in — this posi- 
tion—” 

His friend laughed with forced lightness. His 
hand was warm and true, grasping the hand now 
outstretched to him. How changed was this, 
his friend, during these three weeks ! 

“ You are to have no such thoughts as these, 
Roy,” he said, heartily, determined to believe 
even against the crowding circumstances. “ If 
this is your wish, I will try to fulfill it. Keep up 
a good heart. Twenty-four hours will see you 
out of here, and we will have back our jolly Hil- 
ton, not this glum man with a distrust of even 
his friends.” 

Roy laughed, but rather harshly. There was 


Before the Trial, 


65 


more reason for his fear than the other knew, he 
said to himself, when he was again alone, resum- 
ing his attitude of despondency. He knew per- 
haps, better than Whitney, that he had cause to 
fear the outcome of the morrow’s trial. And if 
they should prove him guilty, if there were 
enough evidence — how could he know of that, 
shut up like a dog in a kennel — if there were 
enough evidence to make clear that it was his 
hand that caused the death of his rival ? 

He shuddered, and a low groan escaped him. 
What must be the outcome of that ! More than 
death! He did not half so much fear death — 
though it came upon the gallows with the black 
cap and the swift rope. Where were his thoughts 
tending ? He did not fear that so much as he 
feared the consequent separation from his wife. 
He knew his wife’s relations. They were un- 
doubtedly no more wealthy than he ; their blood 
was no bluer ; their pride no more haughty. But 
to lay upon them a stain or hint of stain, no mat- 
ter under what force of circumstances, would be 
past their forgiveness. 

Whitney Avould cheer a fellow if he were to 


66 


Under a Cloud. 


be hung the next minute,” he said, by and by, 
turning his haggard face and restless, feverish 
eyes toward the small window, where the dark- 
ness of night made the pale reflection of the lamp 
like a will-o’-the-wisp upon the panes. “ But do 
as I will, I cannot rid myself of the belief that 
this cannot end so easily as he would have me 
think. And anything — anything — death even — 
rather than live and know that she is kept from 
me because of that cloud upon my honor.” 

Through the long night — the longest night of 
his life, it seemed to Roy — he sat in his chair, 
now dropping off into fitful sleep, now rousing 
to renewed thoughts of evil upon him. 

Terrible fancies filled his brain, and the dark- 
ness was fitful with ghostly shadows, gigantic in 
size, real in the excited imagination, frightful to 
the troubled heart. How he would welcome 
another day’s light ! Death, even, seemed less 
hard to bear with the broad light of day upon 
the world, and not this ghastly, unfathomable 
blackness. 

A long, long time he sat watching through the 
window for the light that would herald day. 


Before the Trial. 


67 


And as light comes alike to just and unjust, and 
the sun never falters in his rising or setting for 
the innocence or the guilt of man, so at last the 
black, blank night grew grayly into dawn in the 
wan east, and the full glimmer and deepening of 
day struck pallor to the lamp-light and the face 
of the watcher in the small room. A gray day, 
with threatening storm to come, but — day ! 

Ere another night fell upon him, Roy said, 
grimly, as he rose stiffly from his chair and 
crossed over to the window, as though so he 
hoped to breath freer — ere another night came 
upon him, he would be outside of that room, 
either free or found guilty of the murder of a 
man he called his friend. 



CHAPTER VIII- 

THE TRIAL. 

The court-room was crowded from floor to 
roof with eager faces. From the rail before the 
dock to the utmost corner of the galleries, rows 
upon rows of inquisitive eyes were turned upon 
the judge, the jury, the lawyers and the prisoner. 

Very handsome the prisoner looked in spite of 
the pallor upon his face, and some of those most 
certain of the verdict let their hearts soften 
toward him as they looked upon his sternly set 
face. His blue eyes flashed with the proud 
spirit that must have stood by him through even 
worse than this, and his broad shoulders were 
squared with the bearing of dignity — a very man 
in every feature and gesture — though they 
should agree, the jurymen, that he had stained 



The Trial, 


69 


his strong white hands with another man’s blood, 
in a fit of brutal passion. 

His eyes did not falter nor fall, meeting this 
sea of eyes and faces, though now and then he 
searched the room over, a streak of red across 
his eyes, as though they, too, were touched by 
the mark of blood — resting always upon one 
veiled figure at the far end of the gallery. His 
head was proudly lifted, and he seemed almost 
unconscious of the terrible crime charged against 
him, more and more as the day wore on and the 
trial with it, a vacant expression creeping upon 
the haggard face ever and anon as he sat and 
listened, listened with grave attention to Avhat 
was argued and what was said for and against 
him. 

Very thoroughly and well was the trial con- 
ducted, for the law would be just and accuse no 
man hastily or without good evidence. Never- 
theless, as the case for the prosecution was pre- 
sented, and the evidence, so strong, so terrible, 
was laid before them, who could fail to know 
what a vast, vast space of proof lay piled against 
him in proportion to that stated for his defense. 


70 


Under a Cloud. 


Few in that crowded room knew what had 
been done in the prisoner’s behalf, and the mass 
of attentive faces changed expression from cer- 
tainty of guilt to a shade of doubt, as the power- 
ful evidence was given for defense. The one 
proof that seemed so strong against him, of the 
rifle-ball aimed from the thicket and answering 
minutely to the one gone from Roy s rifle at the 
time of his arrest, was somewhat weakened when 
it was proved that Roy was not the only one 
passing through the wood almost directly upon 
the time of the murder. Old Hardman’s niece 
had witnessed a quarrel between the prisoner 
and the murdered man, during which the former 
threatened the latter’s life. But — old Hardman 
and his niece had, perhaps, as little love for 
George Chesney as had the prisoner. Chesney 
was known to have threatened the old miser 
with the exposure of some dark transaction, only 
the week preceding the murder, when the old 
man shook his fist in his face and dared him to 
do so at his peril ! He was coming from Hard- 
man’s house that day. Hardman sent for him 
on important business, No one knew what 


The Trial, 


71 


passed between them save the lawyer, the old 
man and his niece ! But Jane Hardman proved 
that she was in that portion of the woods almost 
at the time of the murder. And — Hardman pos- 
sessed a rifle with barrels corresponding to that 
used and carried by the prisoner upon the day 
of the murder ; and although every charge was 
removed, it was known to have been loaded up 
to that day. To be sure, the prisoner showed 
considerable agitation when boarding the train 
at Nanuet, and all things were apparently as 
usual in the Hardman household, when the two 
hired men. Bill Harton and his brother, returned 
from the village where Hardman sent them upon 
an errand that afternoon ; and so far as man 
could see, it rested equally between these two, 
whose rifle held the deadly ball. 

Even the promiscuous crowd crammed into 
the court-room, waiting for the final decision 
that must prove the prisoner guilty, and eager 
to know what sentence should be passed upon 
him, unconsciously felt Whitney’s influence 
when he rose to make his final address to the 


jury. 


72 


Under a Cloud, 


As he rose, all idle chatter under breath, all 
restless movement fell into silence ; a dead hush 
was upon the room ; all eyes centered upon the 
man in the dock and his eloquent counsel. 
Never before had that court-room held such a 
speaker ; not that his words were many ; hun- 
dreds of men had uttered hundreds of more 
words than he, in a like cause, and failed ; but 
what he said was clear and concise, yet aimed at 
their hearts as well as their judgments, and when 
finished and seated himself, there were tears in 
many eyes unused to weep. 

He told of the young man’s unblemished life ; 
of his efforts to conquer the evil touch of jeal- 
ousy so strongly held against him ; of his 
endeavor to make men better by his kindly 
words and deeds; of the undoubted friendly 
intercourse between him and George Chesney. 
“ A high-souled, highly-honored Christian gentle- 
man — ” would he in a fit of reckless passion take 
the life of another such ? 

Still, when the prosecuting counsel rose and 
summed up the case for prosecution, there were 
the facts indisputable upon his side ; and the 


The Trial, 


73 


fickle crowd no longer listening to the eloquent 
man whose words were so quiet and so impres- 
sive, knew not what to believe and scarcely knew 
what they desired should be the ending of the 
trial. This man, too, was eloquent, and his 
words forcible with facts even clearer than those 
offered by his opponent. He spoke of the dead 
man’s home of mourning and the noble life cut 
short by a dastardly act. 

The prisoner was known to have cause against 
the murdered man ; it was an indisputable fact 
that this one element of insane jealousy belonged 
to the blood of the family; he was heard to 
threaten his rival, and an hour thereafter his 
rival was found murdered. He knew this man 
was to be in that portion of the woods ; George 
Chesney sent written word to the club to that 
effect, when stating his inability to join them. 
The prisoner disagreed with his friends and 
struck off alone at about the hour his rival was to 
be in the woods. Evidence was given that they 
met and quarreled ; and the foot-prints in the 
snow proved that the prisoner, instead of follow- 
. ing the track leading to the Nyack turnpike, fol- 


74 


Under a Cloud, 


lowed in his rival’s followed — because his 

foot-prints were just over the other’s — until a 
lack of snow left the trace indistinct, and he 
turned off to the cart track through the thicket, 
just above where the murder was committed. 
After that he was seen to leave Nanuet alone 
and in much excitement. When arrested, but 
one chamber of his rifle was empty, and the 
wound was caused by such a ball. 

And the prisoner? How quietly he sat, as 
though he were listening to some other man’s 
trial than his own, save for those strangely blood- 
shot eyes that turned now and then from the 
bench to search through the crowd and end — 
always end — upon that veiled figure in the far end 
of the gallery. As the trial advanced, the pallor 
upon his face began fluttering, flashes of feverish 
color tinged the thin cheeks, only to die away 
again in that intense death-like paleness that told 
of extreme suffering. 

It was strange how his mind wandered, too. 
Now this attention was centered upon the trial 
— his trial — and he leaned slightly forward as 
though he were growing deaf and could not 


The TriaL 


75 


easil}?' catch the words. Then, his eyes turning 
upon the silent figure in the gallery, he wondered 
vaguely sometimes, sometimes with vivid com- 
prehension, as to who this still, graceful, heavily 
veiled woman could be. And then, growing 
more and more careless of what passed around 
him, he began counting’ aimlessly the windows 
and the panes of glass and the faces before him ; 
this blending confusedly with the voice of the 
speaker and the evil ot jealousy, descending 
through many generations, to blot and cloud a 
life hitherto so honorable that never a murmur 
of wrong could be breathed upon it. 

And again he caught the words at the bar. 
And still that silent, proud figure sat in the 
darkening gallery, with its face veiled securely 
from chance eyes. And those panes in the long 
windows and the eager faces pressed behind one 
another in every direction, mingled and grew 
confused in his mind. 

Then a stir through this sea of faces, as though 
some mighty wind had touched them ; and a 
silence like the hush of death ; and then, in some 
unaccountable fashion, the words of the judge, 


76 


Under a Cloud. 


distinctly uttered, yet dulled to his ears, struck 
through this confusion, aud he knew vaguely, 
scarcely caring, that he was delivering his charge 
to the jury. And by and by, after what seemed 
but an instant’s space of time to him, his mind 
seemed to so easily grasp the vastness of time, 
but which was in reality full five hours, the jury 
returned. 

And now this blurring sea before him — the 
windows, the panes of dingy glass, the glimmer 
of lightly lying snow, the whispering of winds 
along the tree-tops, the mighty death-like silence 
of waiting for some great event ; then out of 
this — not a breath — not a rustle — perfect silence 
— sounded the foreman’s voice, and he knew — 



CHAPTER IX. 

AFTER THE TRIAL. 

And all through this blur and confusion of 
mind — through the death-like silence over the 
crowded room — through the glimmer of snow — 
out of all this Hilton knew that he was — not guilty. 

After that, silence for one instant, and then — 
what a shout went up from the crowd. They 
were moved with the fickleness of the wind ; their 
hearts and sympathy were with the man who 
stood in the prisoner’s dock, found to be charged 
with a crime of which he was — not guilty. 

In the midst of this excitement, Roy Hilton 
stepped from the dock once more a free man, 
and many pressed about him to congratulate him, 
and, among these, his friends were first. Some 
of these scarcely recognized the pale, haggard. 


78 


Under a Cloud. 


stern-faced man who came through this trial so 
changed. For up to that time his life had been 
full of all that makes life good to hold, and this 
deadly cloud was the first to overshadow him. 

Whitney, knowing how much he was suffering 
through the struggle to command himself, came 
down and made his way through the crowd. He 
drew Roy’s arm through his and turned with 
him toward the door, forcing a way quietly but 
steadily through the crowd pressing, some with 
curiosity, some with kind words, about the man 
such a few minutes before standing with the 
balance swaying for life or death. He uttered 
no words of congratulation, but replied to the 
men and the earnest friends pressing around his 
client, but ere the young man was aware, they 
had passed the doors and were again in the open 
air under the late November sky — and he was 
free. 

‘‘ Frank,” he said, and his voice was hoarse in 
his effort for control, and from the excitement 
through which he had passed during the weeks 
of confinement Frank, who are they— those 
two women in the gallery ? 1 saw them there. 


A fter The Trial. 


79 


You promised me that she should be kept away, 
and yet she is here — she saw and heard all that 
passed — the speakers and the — staring windows 
with their interminable panes — and the rustling 
of the leaves — " 

His friend laughed with assumed lightness, 
still drawing the other down the steps and 
toward the closed carriage in waiting. 

“ Of what are you talking, Roy T he asked, 
and though his voice was gay, there was a deep 
shadow upon his face and eyes. “ You speak in 
riddles, my dear fellow. What have you to do 
with these women who come to see and hear this 
latest bit of gossip ? The carriage is here, come. 
There is a train due in a half-hour and we must 
take it, and — ” 

But the young man would not be put off. He 
scarcely heard the other’s words. His eyes were 
restlessly searching the faces about them. Then, 
as Whitney would have drawn him within the 
waiting carriage, he drew back impatiently, and 
the old fire returned to his eyes, as he met 
squarely the eyes of his friend. 

“ You would be kind, Frank,” he said slowly. 


8o 


Under a Cloud. 


as though to speak were new to him. “ You 
think 1 am blind, perhaps. I saw those women. 
You need not expostulate with me, I have eyes 
and — a heart! Helen is here somewhere! It 
was she dressed in black — as though I were dead 
and she a widow ! That this should have fallen 
upon me, and my wife be forced to come to my 
trial as though it were rather my burial I That 
they keep her from me, as though I were some 
polluted thing not fit for her to draw near to ! 
Where is she, Whitney ? I must speak with 
her!” 

His eyes were wild, his voice hoarse and 
unnatural ; his hands were clenched at his side 
as though he would master some powerful pas- 
sion that could bring nothing but ill, should once 
it master him. 

His friend, for one instant, was silent, unable 
to meet his swift words. He knew this young 
man’s proud heart and great love for his wife. 
He knew — and so he had known from the first — 
that Helen Hilton was in that crowded court- 
room, waiting to hear with her own ears the 
decision for or against her husband. He had 


A fter the Trial. 


8i 


done his best to keep her away — knowing how it 
would wound his friend — but the woman would 
hear nothing. That she was as nearly crazed by 
this blow to her husband’s honor as he was him- 
self, he saw clearly enough, and he dared not 
refuse her demand to be taken where she might 
at least know how the law went with the man 
she loved. 

She came down that morning with her truest 
friend. She could never have been recognized 
by her own mother in the shrouding garments 
she wore, but the quick eyes of her husband 
pierced her disguise, and the pain his friend 
would have spared him, his wife, whom he loved, 
had laid upon his proud heart. 

Perhaps the one sob, striking like a cry upon 
the great silence of the crowded room, had 
come from her — from the lips of the woman he 
loved ! It must have gone hard with her to sit 
through what passed during the long hours of 
the trial ! It must have been worse than death 
for her, so proud and loving, to sit in the stifling 
room and see and hear what she saw and heard ! 


82 


Under a Cloud, 


He could not go away without seeing her i 
Some strange fatality seemed to fall upon him 
and warn him of what should be the outcome of 
this trial. He had been too happy, he whispered 
to himself, through set teeth, and fate would try 
him if he were strong enough to bear more trial ! 
Some great sorrow was hanging over him, he 
knew as well as though the future had been laid 
bare before him, as he stood beside the carriage 
with his friend. There had come to him the 
conviction that he was to be proved through 
other means than this outcome of circumstantial 
evidence that had laid for a time the stain upon 
him of his rival’s death. 

To think that his wife — the proud, pure, beau- 
tiful woman who had given herself so gladly to 
his care when he asked of her her love and the 
return of his own — to think that she must sit in 
that gallery and listen to what they said about 
her husband, the man she loved with even more 
power, if that were possible, than his for her. 
To think that she should have mingled with that 
crowd of gossips and curiosity-seekers, and be 
brought to know she had been one among them 


A fter the Trial. 


83 


at a time when she should have been so far away 
as the world could place her — from his disgrace ! 

“ As she is here, and you did not keep your 
promise to me, Frank Whitney, I must see her. 
I must and will speak with her, and tell her how 
false this is; that it is only the strangeness of 
circumstantial evidence that placed me in the 
prisoner’s dock, with the world at liberty to 
speak of me as it will ; with its power to wound 
her and place her under the same cloud as that 
laid upon her husband — unjustly, indeed, but 
still shadowing his honor and hers.” 

What could Whitney do, when he would have 
given a good ten years of his life to have spared 
this friend of his sorrow and humiliation ? How 
could he force his friend to accede to his com- 
mand and go with him, when he knew as well as 
the other that his wife was among this crowd, 
that she must come out ere many minutes, and 
there would be no hope of his keeping them 
apart, and so sparing both the pain of meeting in 
that place. 

If you are certain that your wife is here, 
Roy,” he said quietly, under his breath, that the 


84 


Under a Cloud, 


curious eyes and ears about them should know 
nothing of what they spoke, “ it will be better 
for us to go at once to the station, and there wait 
for her. She will, undoubtedly, take the next 
train down to the city, for she will not be anx- 
ious to remain here longer than necessary, any 
more than yourself. To meet her or speak wdth 
her here, where all of these people can know, 
would but place her in an awkward position.” 

Roy’s eyes were upon his face, and the fire 
within them burned down to his very soul, as 
though he would prove whether or not this 
man who had so far been his good friend was to 
be trusted with his heart’s happiness. Then he 
turned with him toward the carriage as quietly 
as though his heart were not beating madly and’ 
rebelliously. 

“ Undoubtedly you are right, Frank,” he said, 
slowly, his hand trembling as he laid it upon the 
carrriage door ere entering, for the confinement 
and sorrow had changed him terribly in the eyes 
of this warmest of all his many friends. “ You 
are always thoughtful of such appearances. I 
would have no stain laid upon her, or allow any 


A fter the Trial. 


85 


one to know that my wife — my wife — sat in that 
room to-day.” 

The bitterness in his voice struck oddly upon 
his hearer’s heart. As they were rolling away 
toward the depot Whitney laid one hand upon 
his companion’s arm, and leaning forward looked 
steadily in his flashing eyes. The pity and pain 
in his own in some way touched the young man’s 
passionate rebellion. 

“Roy, my dear fellow,” he said, quietly and 
steadily, his hand pressed down upon the strong 
arm under his hold as though so he would impress 
him with his truth and sympathy. “ My dear 
fellow, such words from you regarding the 
woman who loves you should make you blush to 
utter them. You know as well as I that it was 
her warm heart and her pity that brought her 
here to-day, and not the idle curiosity of those 
others — ” 

“ But she should have obeyed my wish and 
remained away, where the disgrace of seeing me 
there — her husband — with the idle listeners wait- 
ing to know whether or not the law would say 
that an innocent man should bear the punish- 


86 


Under a Cloud. 


merit circumstantial evidence alone had laid upon 
his honor. How could she come ? How could 
she wish to see me in such a false position — she, 
the woman I love and who has loved me so well 
— me, tried for the murder of her old lover?” 

“You are not yourself, Roy,” his friend 
answered, quietly, turning his gaze from the 
window of the carriage as they passed quickly 
along the street, where the threatened rain was 
at last falling, making the day dull and dark as 
the heart of his friend. “ It is better not to talk 
upon this subject now. We might both of us 
say that for which we would be sorry when we 
had time for sober thought.” 

But Roy Hilton was not so to be quieted. He 
had been too long forced back upon himself to 
silence, struggle as he would for self-command, 
the restless cry against this that had come upon 
him at the very threshold of life ! 

“ I cannot remember always the after-remorse 
of which you speak, Frank !” he cried, restlessly, 
his eyes now upon the other’s face, now turned 
upon the dreary rain darkening the carriage- 
window., “ I have borne enough, truly, without 


A fter the Trial, 


87 


this knowledge that my wife descends to witness 
her husband’s degradation ! I should have gone 
to her and thrown aside her disguise, and made 
her suffer, too, the bitterness which was upon me ! 
If she would follow me here when it was my 
express wish that she should not do so, why 
should she not be made to bear with me the 
limit of my disgrace — ” 

“ You are excited, Roy,” Mr. Whitney said, 
gravely. “ You are as free as on the day you 
entered the woods with us. There is not a ques- 
tion of that in the mind of any one listening to 
your trial.” 

“ But I know better !” exclaimed Roy, fiercely, 
turning his eyes upon the kind face beside him. 
“ I tell you, Frank Whitney, a man cannot bear 
what I have borne and go from it without a hint 
always lingering with him of what he has been 
made unjustly to suffer. These three weeks of 
imprisonment have changed me as, perhaps, you 
do not realize. 1 can never again go among my 
friends without feeling that this goes with me. 
Do you think I do not realize, as even you can- 
not do, what must come from it? They say I 


88 


Under a Cloud. 


am not guilty — and before God they speak the 
truth — but the knowledge that they believed me 
guilty until the jury found me otherwise, and 
that even yet there is uncleared evidence against 
me which must cloud my life !” 

What could Frank Whitney reply? He knew 
that it was true that to Roy’s proud sense of 
honor the memory of those three weeks behind 
prison walls, even though these walls were sof- 
tened to a room in the sheriff’s house, must for- 
ever cloud his life. . But this was not Roy Hil- 
ton: this man crying against life and fate, and 
uttering words of harsh judgment against the 
woman he loved ! The trial had done more than 
wound his heart ; perhaps — who knew ? — it had 
touched his mind as well ! 

“ Well !” the lawyer knew not what to say, but 
he felt that neither of them could endure the 
silence that must ensue if this argument ceased, 
we are at the depot, Roy. We will wait in the 
ladies’ room for your wife. She will not be 
long behind us. The train is due in five min- 
utes. Thank Heaven we have escaped the 
crowd and will get away quietly.” 


A fter the Trial. 


89 


Roy did not reply, but left the carriage and 
entered the station like one in a dream. Should 
his wife come upon him, there and so, it would 
wound her loving heart, as, perhaps, he did not 
comprehend ! 

How swiftly the seconds ticked themselves 
away on the great clock upon the blank wall ! 
One, two, three minutes passed, and, although 
they seemed like hours to those two men, yet, 
when they were gone and those for whom they 
waited did not appear, the flight of time seemed 
cruel. 

Hark ! Shrill and high, like the scream of 
some mad monster, rang out the whistle upon 
the dull, damp, dark air ! It was clanging and 
rattling along the dull rails, as though to crush 
a human heart were but pastime under its 
mighty wheels. Again and yet again the pierc- 
ing scream of its iron throat struck the dull air 
into quivering reverberation, dying along the 
woods dank with the coming rain, and fading off 
along the hills as though to mock the suffering 
of the heart whose bitterness had come through 


90 


Under a Cloud, 


the gray November woods where a dead man 
lay face downward upon the snow ! 

“ The train is coming, Roy,” the lawyer said, 
turning quietly to his companion, a swift light 
as of relief flashing in his eyes. Come, my 
dear fellow. When once we have left this place 
behind us, we shall forget there ever was such a 
thing in the world as man’s injustice !” 

Roy shook his head doggedly. The color in 
his face was dull and deep, his eyes were rest- 
less and wild ; he looked like a man walking in 
some feverish dream, not knowing where he had 
come or how it happened that so he was there. 

Frank Whitney, meeting this peculiar expres- 
sion in his eyes, started involuntarily, and 
crossed, without a sign of haste, to where the 
other still paced to and fro with those fiercely 
clenched hands at his back. He laid his hand in 
some authority upon his shoulder, and spoke dis. 
tinctly as one might address a child. 

“ It is time for us to go, Roy,” he said. “ The 
train is here. Come.” 

Roy looked at him through the fiery haze upon 
his mind and heart, as though the memory of 


A fter the Trial. 


91 


who this might be were fast slipping from him. 
Then he shook his head. The one predominant 
thought could not be drowned even by fever 
heat. 

“ I shall wait for Helen/’ he said. “ I cannot 
go until my wife comes. I promised to wait, 
you know.” 

For an instant the other fell back, biting his 
lips as though to silence any rash word. Then 
he forced himself to smile as one would smile 
upon a child to win its yielding. 

“ Helen has gone, Roy. You have forgotten. 
She is to meet you at home, you remember. She 
will not come here. If we miss this train, she 
will fear some accident has come to you. Let 
us go.” 

Still that dogged one idea in the brain that 
was fast yielding to the influence of the fever 
that had been so slowly but surely creeping upon 
the strong man during the confinement and 
excitement. He shook his head and drew back 
from the strong, kind hand upon his arm. 

“ I promised to wait for her here, you know. 
I couldn’t go, really, till she comes. She was— 


92 


Under a Cloud, 


there, you know — and I said I would not go 
without her. It would be cruel for me to go 
after she came so far to hear what they should 
say of me — her husband !” He laughed low and 
half vacantly. 

This, then, the other said, with a great pity in 
his heart, was what had so changed the man 
before him. This was the cause of his strange, 
harsh words of a woman he would have died for 
to spare her one hour’s sorrow. This was what 
had come so near bringing the trial to a bad end- 
ing, through his client’s strange lack of compre- 
hension when made to answer his charge. 

But there was no time to spare if they would 
take this train for home, and he would do much 
to get his friend away before his wife should 
come. So he smiled steadily into the burning 
eyes opposite him, and said, with forced lightness : 

“ What a fellow you are, Roy ! Helen would 
laugh should she hear you. Surely, you remem- 
ber that she said she would keep dinner waiting 
even two hours for our return. She would meet 
you there, not here. Come. If we miss this 


A fter the Trial, 


93 


train, we cannot get home until too late even for 
the two hours’ delay.” 

Talking, he drew his companion toward the 
train, whose fierce, fiery engine was puffing and 
panting and breathing steam, as though restless 
at even that moment’s delay in its swift rush 
along the rails through the mist and the fog of 
the storm. The warning-bell struck into ring- 
ing, and the puffing and panting ceased sud- 
denly, as the monster prepared for another 
charge over the road. 

Hilton’s heart was dark with thought, as they 
entered the train; but how much darker, how 
much sadder he must have been, had he known 
of one stern-faced, shrewd-eyed woman who sat 
opposite the veiled woman and her companion in 
the crowded gallery, her thin, hard-featured face, 
and small, cold eyes now turned upon the woman 
across the house as though she would pierce 
through the heavy veiling and pry out the face 
behind them, now turned upon the scene below 
with intense interest, and an excitement under 
the heartless exterior that set the sallow pallor 
of death upon her face. ’ And it was well, too. 


94 


Under a Clotid. 


that he did not know of the little side act in that 
corner of the gallery where this woman sat when 
the verdict was passed upon the prisoner. 

The sallow pallor flushed to flaming color, and 
the small eyes glittered like points of steel ; the » 
whole face most sinister with its dark meaning. 

‘‘We shall see !” came from between her shut 
teeth in a hoarse whisper, her long, bony fingers 
clutching the fold of her shawl. “We shall 
see !” 

Ay, it was well that he did not know ! 


CHAPTER X. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

The engine bell clanged, the mighty monster 
jerked and jolted the long line of cars at its 
back, and then out from the dingy little station 
it crept, and quickened into rapid flight along 
the rails, hidden, save a few feet ahead, by the 
fog and the rain. 

“ Thank God !” Frank Whitney said, under his 


Homeward Bound. 


95 


breath, as he passed with his companion through 
the car to a vacant seat forward. “ I began to 
fear there was no help for a meeting. She 
promised she would take the other line, but I 
feared her woman’s heart would play her deter- 
mination false, and she would follow her hus- 
band. I cannot be too thankful for her truth.” 

But his companion, though fast yielding to the 
fever that had been born in his veins during the 
days of imprisonment, was still hard to convince 
of his friend’s truth in asserting that his wife 
would not come to that station to meet him. 
Although he was very quiet after his fierce 
words in the carriage, the heat of his bitterness 
in those words, yet there was that in his face to 
draw considerable attention to him from the 
passengers. Perhaps they knew, or some of 
them, of the trial at Nyack. Perhaps they 
guessed that this man, with his flushed face and 
fiery eyes and dogged manner, had come 
through some mighty struggle or sorrow. 

The landscape changed ; thicker settlements 
and villages lay at the side of the tracks. They 
stopped once or twice at a busy station, but the 


96 


Under a Cloud. 


train was an express and dashed and rattled and 
swayed along its iron road as though its whirl- 
ing wheels could not fast enough bear the pas- 
sionate heart to the fulfillment of its suffering. 
Then, the open glimpses of marshy land ; the 
distant glimmer of water, brick and mortar 
looming through the fog. Rattle and bang and 
thunder through the tunnel, then rattle and bang 
and rumble out into the light again, and the 
great monster slowly drew its length into the 
station. 

Frank Whitney waited until the car was 
nearly emptied of passengers ere he addressed 
his companion, laying one hand upon Hilton’s 
shoulder, as though the height of man’s pity 
could not soften enough the pain in store for 
him. 

“We are at home at last, Roy!” he said, qui- 
etly, forcing himself to smile upon the haggard 
face turned toward him. “ It has been a tire- 
some journey down, but a safe one, after all, and 
we should be glad of that !” 

Roy roused himself as though he had been in 
a dream. He rose and followed his friend un- 


Homeward Bound. 


97 


questioningly from the car, and so, arm in arm, 
they passed along the platform to the ferry. 

•‘We will get there soon enough,” muttered 
Frank Whitney to himself, with sudden savage 
impatience, as he followed his friend from the 
boat and into a cab, closing the door, after giving 
the address to the driver. “ A mighty sight too 
soon to please me. It’s a deuced bad business 
any way one can fix it, and I wish I were well 
out of it. If I were not his friend, or hers, it 
would not so much matter. Well, there’s many 
a bitter pill, I suppose for all of us. I should be 
thankful it is not I who have the greatest suffer- 
ing to endure.” 

Still, warm-hearted as he was, it was hard 
enough to know and witness the suffering of his 
friends, and feel so assured that, do what he 
might, he could in no wise soften or prevent it. 
He knew what was to come, so far as human 
power went, and he must still go with his friend 
to the old home, where he had been so infinitely 
happy and where the saddest blow of all would 
descend. 

“ If I thought,” he said to himself, his brows 


98 


Under a Clotid. 


heavily drawn down over his troubled eyes — 
“ if I thought I could detain him at my home 
and keep him there through this illness — 

He rang the bell and gave a new address to 
the driver. 

“ One can do no more than fail,” he said 
grimly, his eyes staring out upon the bustle and 
noise of the street. “ And 1 will do my best not 
to fail when his happiness is at stake. He will 
soon be out of the knowledge of this for a few 
days, I think, judging from his present state. 
Poor fellow ! How strangely things have 
changed for him ! One month ago I could have 
found it in my heart to envy him ; he never 
knew more than did she what Helen Stuart was 
to me before she married him.” 

But when he reckoned to detain Roy at his 
home he did not take into consideration that this 
man s one thought was to return to his home, 
and even fever could not blind his eyes to the 
fact that they were at his friend’s house, not his 
own. They left the cab and were in the house 
itself, the young man scarcely glancing at his 
surroundings as he hurried past his friend and 


Hoinczvard Bound. 


99 


up the steps, but when once they were within 
and no Helen came to meet them, and no famil- 
iar sound or sight was there, Roy turned to the 
other in a passion, his excitement granting him 
strength. 

“ You are deceiving me, Frank Whitney,” he 
cried, fiercely, his voice suffocated with anger. 
“ You have not brought me to my home ! My 
wife is not here as you said she would be — as 
she promised she would be. Perhaps you think 
I have no rights after the stain upon my name, 
and that it is best my wife should be kept from 
me. You do not know the man with whom you 
deal, if that is your thought ! My wife can be 
as true to me, now that I have come back to her 
freed from that charge, as she was the day I 
went from her, and promised to return at night. 
But so you think— you and the world— that 
when once a man has borne the touch of dis- 
grace, other men can do with him as they will, 
for he has no right, no home, no wife !” 

His voice was low but quivering, with the 
intensity of his anger, and his fevered eyes 
flashed into those of the other, as though they 


lOO 


* Under a Cloud. 


would burn his meaning to his very soul. How 
could he know to what depth he was wounding 
the heart that was but considering his own good ? 

Frank Whitney went close up to him and laid 
his hand upon his arm, as though he would soften 
his anger toward himself, as though he hoped so 
to prove what was in his heart — what infinite pity 
and sadness for his friend. 

“ Roy,” he said, gently, and the quiet voice 
hushed the other’s fierce excitement, “ 1 brought 
you here, because I thought you would prefer 
meeting your wife here, -to going at once to your 
own home : but if you wish it, we will go there, 
instead.” 

Anything for delay, he told himself — anything 
to kept this man unaware of the sadness await- 
ing him, until he should be incapable of compre- 
hending what must so soon fall upon his already 
sore heart. Anything to keep from him, if but 
for the space of an hour, the pain knowledge 
must bring. 

You are sure she was to come here to meet 
me, Frank ?” asked his friend, wistfully. And the 
other turned away his face, that he would not 


Homeward Bound, 


lOI 


betray its quivering to those sharp eyes. “You 
said she Avould wait at home for me, and you 
bring me here, and she is not here, and does not 
come, as she has always come when I have been 
absent.’* 

“ We will go to your home, then, Roy,” was 
the quiet answer. “ I would not have you doubt 
me. If you believe that I am deceiving you, we 
will go at once, that you may know how true a 
friend I really would be.” 

Was there something behind the quiet words? 
Was there a hint of the black shadow he had 
believed must fall upon him when he left the 
room where his disgrace had placed him ? Did 
his friend know of what he spoke when he would 
delay his return to his home ? Some blank place 
in his memory would not be filled at his effort to 
recall what this might be. Then he felt the 
influence ot some shadowy, dark thing near his 
life, he believed, but what this was — whether it 
were in reality the non-appearance of his wife, 
or — 

“Yes; let us go now — at once — home!” he 
said, restlessly, with those brilliant eyes alert for 


102 


Under a Cloud, 


the appearance of a form that did not come and 
a face that was out of sight. If you are my 
friend, Frank Whitney, as you hope for happiness 
yourself, let us go at once.” 

“We will go at once,” was the quiet reply, 
though a new, strange touch of pallor was upon 
the speaker’s face. “ Come, Roy.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

WATCHING. 

The cab was in waiting at the steps, for the 
lawyer had been uncertain of his success in this 
ruse to detain his friend, and ordered the carriage 
to wait for further orders. They entered it 
without longer delay, and were driven slowly 
further up the Avenue to Hilton’s house. 

Slowly the carriage rolled along the Avenue ; 
very lingeringly they turned up to the steps 
before the handsome house of the Hiltons, very 
reluctantly the lawyer opened the carriage door, 
and descending assisted his friend to alight. He 


Watching. 


T03 


paid the driver and then he followed the other 
up the broad steps and waited for the answering 
of the bell. With a heavy heart and a shadow 
in his eyes that warned an observer of his sor- 
row, he entered with the master, keeping beside 
him more from the wish to prove that there was 
companionship near than because he would wit- 
ness the scene that must come. 

“ Is Mrs. Hilton not at home ?” queried Roy, 
his voice so strange and hoarse the footman 
scarcely recognized it; but at a warning glance 
from the lawyer he replied quietly, as though it 
were an every-day affair — this absence of the 
mistress upon the strange home-coming of the 
master : 

Shall I see for you, sir? She may be in her 
rooms — ” 

“No!” Roy interrupted him, waiting for no 
further words, and hurried up the staircase as 
though he must satisfy himself of some distrust. 
“ I will seek her myself, Johnson.” 

He did not know that his friend was following 
him. He had a dim comprehension that he was 
not alone, and that there was a strange silence 


104 


Under a Cloud. 


upon the house, but he could not define the sen- 
sation of wonder upon himself. His wife was 
undoubtedly in her room ; he would go there 
first; she might not have known the time for 
their arrival. She was waiting for him some- 
where in the rooms. If she were not in her 
room, then in some other. She was somewhere 
waiting for him ; and he must find her. 

But his wife was not in her boudoir when he 
sought her there. She was not in the inner 
room, nor in her dressing-room. He called her. 
There was no answer. 

Even Roy Hilton’s flushed face began to 
assume a pallor born of fear, blending so start- 
lingly with the flush of fever, that it was terrible 
to see. His wife would have replied to his call, 
were she within hearing. She was always so 
ready to respond to his call upon her. He 
crossed the hall to his own suite of rooms, but 
she was not there. He had some half-defined 
hope that she might have waited for him there. 
He passed rapidly from one room to another. 
Nowhere, look where he would, could he find 
her. 


Watchings 


105 


Then when he searched the house in this half- 
wild fashion, his friend beside him, though not 
intruding upon his growing alarm, he returned 
to her boudoir once more, as though he could 
not even yet give up the hope of finding her 
somewhere within call, somewhere he could 
reach her. 

“ She is not here,” he said, softly, to himself, 
still unconscious of his friend’s presence. She 
has gone out. Perhaps, knowing the time for 
the arrival of the train, she has gone to the ferry 
to meet me ! I should have thought of that ! 
She may have been late, and so we missed her ! 
She will come, presently. I will wait for her 
here !” 

He crossed the room, his footsteps making no 
sound upon the thick rugs, and as though he 
were in the presence of his wife and would not 
disturb her. There was a light blending with 
this strange, half vacant expression upon his face 
that wakened deepest pity in the heart of his 
friend, still within call, still not wishing to make 
his presence known. 

At one of the long windows he stood for a 


io6 


Under a Cloud. 


moment, looking down upon the avenue, his 
eyes searching as far as he could see for the 
carriage she might have taken to meet him at 
the station. Then, as no carriage appeared that 
could be hers, he sank down in her favorite chair 
at this window, and waited. 

‘‘She will be here presently,” he said; and 
repeated this over and over at intervals, so confi- 
dently, yet still in that strange, dazed voice that 
made the hearer’s heart throb with sorrow. 

Knowing in what a state his friend was physi- 
cally and mentally, Frank Whitney had sent a 
messenger at once with a note of explanation to 
the family physician, who at this moment 
appeared. He was a kind-hearted man, but the 
keen eyes were swift to see where mistaken 
friendship might fail to prove of benefit. He 
entered the room very quietly, after tapping at 
the door and receiving no response. He went 
up to the young man, as though he had but just 
parted from him. 

“ Eh, but this is a damp, disagreeable day, 
Roy,” he said, rubbing his hands together, as 


Watching. 


107 


though it were good to be within doors upon 
such a day.” 

Roy turned his bloodshot eyes upon him ques- 
tioningly. 

“ Waiting for your wife, I suppose,” continued 
the older man, with no trace of concern upon his 
face. “ That is the worst of marriage, Roy, my 
boy ; we can never tell when the ladies will be 
at home. They forget the passing of time when 
calling and chatting together.” 

Roy glanced up swiftly. 

“Yes — she is calling!” he said, slowly, but 
very distinctly, to impress the fact upon his 
hearer. “ She will not be gone long. I have 
waited some time, but she will be in presently.” 

There was no betraying change upon the 
physician’s face as he set down his small bag 
upon a table behind the young man, and chose 
therefrom some subtle powder, mixing this in a 
tiny glass half filled with water from the 
pitcher brought in when he came, unobserved by 
the young master. Then he returned to Roy’s 
side and stooped over him for an instant. 

“ A deadly damp day, Roy. Makes a man 


io8 


Under a Cloud. 


shiver just to look out upon the gray streets! 
This is good to drive away the effects of the day. 
Drink it, will you ? I find it very effective.*’ 

He laughed easily and shrugged his shoulders 
as though it were an excellent joke that he dis- 
covered an antidote for the gray days. And 
utterly unsuspicious, half dazed with the fever 
and throbbing in his head and the struggle to fill 
that blank in his memory that could so easily 
have placed where his wife was, could he but 
remember — he took the glass in his trembling 
hand and drank the contents unmurmuringly. 

“It’ll do you good,” declared the physician, 
still laughing as at a good joke, taking the 
emptied glass from the Aveak, lifted hand. “ If 
you’ll take advice, Roy, I should say for you to 
go into your room and lie down for a while. 
That is what one should do after taking this 
stuff. When you wake, you know, you will 
forget you ever had the blues from watching 
through the rain for your wife to return from 
calling. It’ll make the time pass quicker, you 
know.” 

But the young man would not heed this 


Watching, 


109 


advice. He must wait there, in her chair, at 
her window, he said -to himself, and though so 
obedient in drinking the physician’s prescription, 
he utterly and doggedly refused to take this 
latter advice. 

“ Don’t like the suggestion, eh ?” said the jovial 
doctor, standing beside the young man’s chair 
with assumed carelessness, though his keen eyes 
knew that before ten minutes should pass, this 
stubborn patient would be so utterly uncon- 
scious of even the absence of his wife as to 
leave it in his power to put him to bed, and keep 
him there if he would. “ If you were one of us, 
Hilton, you would be amazed to know how 
many patients behave even worse than yourself 
— not that you are a patient, by any means, my 
dear fellow !” as Roy once more turned his eyes 
from the window to the face of the speaker. 
“ But it is really a novelty to be obeyed so well 
as you obey me !” 

Still he watched and waited with his keen 
eyes very kind ; while the young man, leaning 
back in the great soft chair, kept his wavering 
eyes upon the Avenue by a powerful effort, for 


I lO 


Under a Cloud. 


the lids were beginning to droop and his mind 
was growing more and more vacant. “ It would 
be but a short five minutes now,” said the quiet 
doctor to himself, his gaze also straying out 
upon the broad Avenue. And so he waited, 
with a patience born of long endurance. 

“ She will — come — presently — ” muttered the 
low voice, fading into incoherence, as the lids 
would no longer lift from the heavy eyes. “ She 
will — come — ” 


CHAPTER XII. 

TWO WOMFN. 

Through the increasing bustle and excitement 
following the prisoner’s acquittal, two women, 
dressed plainly and unobtrusively, with their 
faces veiled from chance curiosity, sat quite 
silent and motionless in the gallery. One leaned 
once toward her companion, as the crowd 
pressed about the released man, and whispered 


Two Women, 


1 1 1 


with a quivering voice, so low that no other ear 
could catch the words : 

“ Heaven is merciful, as I prayed it should be, 
Kitty. How could they believe him guilty?” 

While, for answer, the other pressed the small 
white hand she held, and patted it, as though she 
were soothing a child. 

They walked from the close, stifling room, so 
packed but a half-hour before, out through the 
falling rain, to the carriage that was drawn up 
for them immediately upon their appearance. 
The driver descended from his box, and opened 
the door, assisting them to enter, and closing it 
upon them, the fluttering green curtain before 
the window hiding them from the curious eyes. 
Then he mounted his seat, and, whipping up the 
horses, whirled them away. He had his orders 
from the prisoner’s counsel, perhaps — who 
knew? — and a fee, besides, from the same 
source, that bound him body and soul to the 
service of his fare. 

But once out of sight of the crowd ; once 
away from the room where the handsome 
stranger stood in the prisoner’s dock, with his 


I I 2 


Under a Cloud. 


haggard face and feverish eyes and half-bewil- 
dered manner — once away from this, shut from 
curiosity by the closed doors and shielding cur- 
tain, the rumble and jolting of the carriage, the 
stern repression this one of the two women 
placed upon herself, gave way utterly, and 
shrinking back in her corner among the cush- 
ions, after flinging aside her veil, she covered 
her face with her ungloved hands, trembling and 
sobbing. 

Her companion, her veil still over her face, as 
though she would be ready for chance necessity, 
bent toward this small, shrinking woman, with 
infinite pity in the action, as she said, with 
forced calmness, for she, too, had been marvel- 
ously moved by the scene at the court-room : 

“You must not give way like this, Helen, 
dearest. You will make yourself ill weeping. 
Of what use are tears? He is free. Why 
should )^ou fear ?” 

Helen shook her head desolately. 

“You wish to be kind, Kittie,” she said, forc- 
ing herself to speak steadily, that her words 
should be audible through the roll of wheels and 


Two Women. 


113 


her excitement. “ You would comfort me if you 
could, but you do not know — oh, indeed, you do 
not know.” 

The other patted her shoulder affectionately, 
as she held her within her arms. 

“ I think you will be better when once you 
arrive at home, dear,” she said, steadily, a gravity 
in her voice that betrayed she spoke other than 
she felt. “ When you are again at home, and he 
is there, and all this sorrow has passed — ” 

“ But that is it !” cried the other, piteously, 
lifting her white face and reproachful eyes. 
“That is it, Kittie. You do not understand. 
How could you? It is only they and I who 
know what is to come out of this wicked, 
wicked charge against him. They made me go 
away when they heard it. They took me from 
our dear home. How could I stand out against 
them when my heart was so sore ? They said I 
should not remain there after — this. That it was 
unjust and cruel for any one to believe against 
him made no difference to them. They said the 
stain was there — the stain of imprisonment! 
That our name is too high and too proud ever 


Under a Cloud, 


114 


to be sullied I That he has not even yet been 
cleared beyond suspicion ! They said 1 am but 
a child — and, oh, perhaps I am, Kittie, dear 
Kittie, but I am still his wife !” 

She broke of in her bitter cry, and again cov- 
ering her face with her hands, convulsively laid 
her head upon her friend’s shoulder and moaned 
in a hushed fashion, that hurt her companion 
more than the wildest cry could do. 

“ Yes ; there, there, dear, you must cheer up,” 
said Kittie. “ You must not give way like this, 
Helen, dear ! Of course you are his wife. No 
one disputes that ! Who could, indeed ? Are 
there two happier people in the world than your- 
self and your husband — ” 

“ But you don’t know — you don’t understand,” 
interrupted the dark-eyed woman, with sudden 
vehemence, starting from the soothing arm about 
her and drying her tears as though tears were 
truly a weakness at such a moment and only 
light affections could be moved by them. 

“ They have not told you, Kittie — I have not 
told you because I could not bring myself to 
utter the words before, but now you will know 


Two Women, 


115 


anyhow. Since this has come to us — to my 
husband and me — they say that we can never 
any more be to each other what we have been ; 
that I am under age still and owe them obedience, 
even though I may be married ; that they com- 
mand me to give up my husband — to leave his 
house — our house, where we have been so happy 
— and if I will not hear of a divorce they com- 
mand me to agree to a separation until he has 
been proved beyond a doubt, even beyond the 
possibility of a doubt, not guilty ol this crime, and 
the true murderer has been brought to light ! 

“ It was hard — it was cruel, Kittie, for them to 
come to me at such a time, knowing what my 
husband is to me, but I was so weary of their 
arguments, so utterly unable to struggle with 
them, that at last they took me with them and 
have forced from me a promise — 1 don’t know 
when or how, but they say I have passed my 
word — never again to return to my home with 
him until he has been proved innocent or until 
they see no cause why I should not return. 

“ How I could have ever yielded to them in 
this I am not able to comprehend ; but I do not 


Under a Cloud. 


1 16 


know half that has passed during these dreadful 
weeks. They say I promised, and they would 
not say untruth. I suppose I must have yielded 
from sheer weariness of their urging. They 
hold me to my word anyway. I came here 
to-day only because I would not be deterred, 
promising that you should come with me, and 
that no word should pass between my husband 
and myself, and that no one should know who 
the veiled woman is.” 

She lifted her head as proudly as though there 
had never and could never be hint of stain upon 
one near or dear to her. The proud blood of 
many a generation was in her veins, and there 
could nothing lower the lifted head or cause the 
steady eyes to fall with shame. 

Kittie spoke no word. She knew her friend 
better than to think of such a thing. She knew 
that this haughty woman, with her pride and love 
and honor, would listen to no word uttered 
against either her husband or her people. If so 
being she had passed her word to hold herself 
apart from him, she would keep that word to the 
death. If they would grant her no leave to 


Two Women. 


117 


return to the home where so much of happiness 
had come to her, she would still live her life, and 
hold herself true to the blue blood descending to 
her from the days of old. Though her heart 
might break, it could of necessity never bend. 

Presently the low voice resumed : 

“ They told me this when 1 would have gone 
to him upon learning what must come from the 
suspicion resting upon him. They held me to 
my promise, though it might have been uttered 
under such stress of weariness and excitement as 
made me irresponsible for what I uttered. I 
remained away, and Frank Whitney said it was 
his wish. He would have kept from me any 
hint of this trouble. 

“ I went to Frank, when they told me of what 
I had promised, and he also assured me, although 
not until I forced him to tell me, that I had 
indeed uttered the words they said at home that 
I had uttered. I yielded to them, and never can 
I go back to him until the murderer is dis- 
covered or until they grant me leave.” 

She sat very still now, her hands clasped in 
her lap, her eyes upon nothing in reality, seeing 


ii8 


Under a Cloud. 


only what her heart and memory painted too 
distinctly. Her companion dared not offer her 
sympathy. She dared not break through the 
proud reserve wrapped so unmistakably about 
the young wife. 

“ It was hard as death to sit there and hear 
what they said of him, knowing that I could not 
go to him,” said the quiet voice. “ When they 
set him free and declared that the circumstantial 
evidence, although strong in its way, was yet 
not powerful enough to convict him, and he 
came away with his one truest friend, who knows 
how hard it was for me — for me, his wife— to sit 
apparently unmoved and let him go and never 
to utter one word of sympathy or trust — to know 
that a barrier as strong as death and cruel as 
even prison bars, kept me from him — that he, so 
changed, so saddened, so ill, must go away with 
his only friend, and I, his wife, must still sit 
there among those idle watchers, saying nothing, 
revealing nothing but an idle curiosity — I could 
have killed myself for very shame of it ! I hated 
myself so thoroughly — I despised myself for hav- 
ing yielded to their persuasion !” 


Two Women. 


119 


Silence fell between them. Only the rumble 
of the wheels upon the stones broke the utter 
hush. The curtain flapped and swung as the 
carriage swayed in their hurried pace. 

“ It was cruel to let him go away with that 
terrible look upon his face !” murmured the 
sweet voice by and by, as though communing 
with herself and forgetful of her companion. 
“ It was not as his wife should have done. I 
should have gone to him there — tbefore all those 
people — and comforted and sustained him. I 
acted like a coward, shrinking in that dark place 
in the gallery, hidden from all eyes, veiled as 
though ashamed of him ! Only a coward would 
have ever placed such an alternative upon her- 
self!” 

“ But there is not the faintest trace of coward- 
ice in you, dearest,” ventured her companion, 
quietly. “ You should not utter such a thought. 
No one would or could believe it of you.” 

The large, steadfast eyes turned upon the 
speaker for an instant in intense scorn. Then 
she answered coldly : 

“You say that to comfort me, Kittie. You 


120 


Under a Cloud. 


utter the conventional words you think are 
required of you when you could not wound me 
more than by such words. Would have let 
him go had you been in my place, Kittie Belaire? 
Could you have remained in your safe hiding 
and see him go away with the trace of suffering 
greater than words could tell upon his face ?” 

“ But you could not break your promise, 
dear,” said Kittie, gravely. 

The other laughed bitterly. 

“ No ; 1 could not break my promise,” she 
said, steadily. “ I could not stain my honor 
with a broken word, but I could stain my con- 
science by shrinking from sharing his suffering 
and pain. It was well for me to yield to such 
weakness as placed me beyond the right to ful- 
fill the commands of the church books and 
divide with my husband the honor or ill, the 
better or worse that might come ! It was well 
that I should forget the commands placed upon 
me when 1 promised to love and honor him 
always I It is what the world would hold as 
just, that he should alone bear the punishment 
of guilt if he is guilty or until he is proved other- 


Two Women. 


I2I 


wise. Our law commands that a man shall be 
considered innocent until he is proved guilty. 
But do we in social life always hold to that? 
Should his wife fall below the par of the law? 
Or, doing so, shall she not always feel scorn of 
herself ?” 

The rumble of the wheels grew fainter; the 
carriage halted ; the driver came to the door, 
and, opening it, informed them, with quiet 
respect, that they were at the station and that 
the down train would be along within a quarter 
of an hour. He assisted them to alight with not 
a sign of curiosity to discover who they might 
be — they had their right to privacy, he said to 
himself, later — for both were as deeply veiled 
when the door was opened as when he closed it 
upon them and their grief or happiness. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A GLIMPSE AT A HURT HEART. 

The fifteen minutes passed while the two 
women sat in the waiting-room, and the train 
coiled itself for a moment at rest beside the 
platform as they, with others, entered. Very 
silent the two sat through the journey to the 
city. As the two men rode on the other line 
with their busy minds and silent lips, so these 
women went upon their own way. An endless 
way it seemed to them. Not that there would 
come to them any pleasure in arrival at home, 
but from the human heart’s impatience when it 
beats to the touch of pain. 

Another line they traveled, but ending in the 
Pennsylvania Depot, and theirs being a shorter 
route and their train an express, they arrived 



A Glimpse at a Hurt Heart. 123 


some minutes sooner than the two travelers 
from the same scene and place. 

“ We will wait until they come — and go/’ said 
Helen, with a strained, still voice, laying her 
hand upon her companion’s arm, the veil still 
screening her face from curious eyes. “ I cannot 
speak to him, I am not allowed to go near him, 
but who can keep me from looking upon him 
when he passes? He will never know how his 
wife stood aside where she would not be seen 
and watched for his coming — and going! He 
may, perhaps, think that she does not care — he 
will undoubted!}" believe she is false to her vows 
when he learns the truth — but while he still 
believes me true I shall watch him pass and then 
return to the house and utter no word, and show 
by no sign that it is not my free will so to do 1” 

Her eyes were brilliant and flashed even 
through the thick folds of her veil. Beautiful 
eyes they must be, some of the passers-by thought, 
catching a glimpse of them as they came and 
went in the hurry of the crowd. Beautiful eyes 
that should not be so hidden under heavy folds 
of black. Beautiful eyes, indeed, but they did 


24 


voider a Cloud. 


not falter in their steady searching for the one 
among the many streaming from the train. 
Through all time and place they could never 
mistake the one face and form for which they 
watched. 

A changed face. Pallid and flushing and pale 
again, with the fevered, restless eyes noting 
nothing in passing, the half vacant expression 
striking terror to the woman beyond his gaze 
standing to see him pass ! A face so changed by 
confinement and suffering, physical and mental, 
that it might have gone unrecognized by a less 
eager eye. How could he guess, hurrying to 
reach his home where his wife awaited him, that 
the woman he would so soon hope to see was 
shrinking from his sight to let him pass without 
a word or look to betray what she, too, was 
suffering ? 

When they were utterly out of sight in the 
ferry-boat and steaming away, she turned with 
supreme calmness to her companion. No quiver 
in her voice ; careless of him, it would seem, from 
all proof she gave to the contrary, a woman with 


A Glimpse at a Hurt Heart, 125 


marvelous self-command, and a pride that might 
some day crush out her life. 

“ If you are ready, we will go now, Kittie,” 
she said, quietly. And gathering the folds of her 
veil a trifle closer about her face, she calmly 
entered the other ferry-boat. 

Kittie Belaire made no reply, uttered no word, 
save to give the direction to the driver of the 
carriage they engaged upon the New York 
side. 

A home where wealth and taste were upon 
everything — was this to which they were going. 
A proud family and proud blood and proud 
hearts. Kindness of heart, where kindness of 
heart did not interfere with what the world 
might say, or what it might demand of these 
members of it and its blue blood society. Good 
intentions that failed utterly to recognize a 
demand when the best of the city’s men and 
women refused to know there should be such. 
Pride in the beautiful daughter who went from 
them to another home and family as high as their 
own. But when once the shadow of prison bars 
struck upon this man- most to be envied, the world 


126 


Under a Cloud, 


said — pride for her would have broken her 
heart and have called it just, without one pang 
of pity or remorse. Perhaps they would indeed 
far rather have her heart unmindful of life, stop 
its throbbing and be cold in death, than live and 
bear or reflect upon them and their pride, the 
stain upon her husband’s name. 

She knew to what she was returning as the 
carriage rolled slowly up-town. She knew what 
must be her fight to overcome the mighty will 
set against her heart’s desire. She knew that 
it was an almost impossible thing to be granted 
— the wish in her heart to return to her husband, 
that she might know beyond doubt that this was 
no terrible illness coming upon him that struck 
such fever into his face. She would go back to 
her home directly she knew there was no harm 
falling upon him. She Would keep her promise 
so far as that. She would, indeed, if so they 
demanded, not even speak with him, if only she 
might be assured there was no harm to him. 

When, at last, the carriage stopped at the 
steps, and they entered the house, neither 
woman uttered what was in her heart, 


A Glimpse at a Httrt Heart, 


127 


Helen threw off her veil, and in the close-fit- 
ting black gown that outlined her slender, 
graceful figure perfectly, went alone to the 
library at the lower end of the hall, and closing 
the door upon entering, passed from her friend’s 
sight for many a long day. 

Her father was in the room. She knew she 
would find him there. It was his favorite place 
at that hour. She had been certain she would 
find him or she would not have entered. She 
could not endure to meet others under her pres- 
ent excitement. He was sitting before the 
grate, where a cheery fire blazed softly, touch- 
ing the engravings and the paintings upon the 
walls and the rich hangings into rosy hues — 
blood red, she thought, shuddering. 

But he was not alone ! She started even in 
her haste and excitement when she saw his com- 
panion. She would sooner have died — the 
thought passed through her mind for one instant 
as she paused just inside the closed door — than 
have entered in her black dress and with her 
pallid face where this other man was. He knew 
this as well as she, and a gleam came into his 


128 


Uiide7'^ a Cloud. 


eyes, but not a muscle of his face betrayed his 
feeling. He scarcely glanced at her, but even 
in the slight turning of his eyes upon her, as she 
glided into the room like a beautiful phantom, 
he knew exactly how pale and wan-faced and 
proud she was. He exulted, too, in his heart, 
knowing this. For he loved her. He loved her 
until his love was changed to evil when she had 
rejected his suit. 

She, with a woman’s instinct, shrank as she 
saw him ; but he would not know what she felt, 
meeting that swift glance from his black eyes. 
She stood as proud and slender and self- 
possessed, with her hand still upon the handle of 
the door, as though, indeed, she expected to 
meet him there, or as though he were utterly 
away. 

“You are fatigued, Mrs. Hilton,” he said, ris- 
ing and offering her a chair drawn up beside her 
father, where the firelight struck invitingly. 
“ These late autumn days are disagreeably sug- 
gestive of winter. Be seated, pray.” 

“ Thank you,” she said, very quietly, but 
coldly, as always she addressed him. “ I do not 


SHE BENT OVER HIM .— Page 137 . 












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Pleading, 


129 


care to be seated, Mr. Carleton. I came in to 
speak with my father. I will leave you again.” 

“ Pray do not do that,” he hastened to say, 
that strange gleam in his eyes not resting on her 
face. “ I was just about to leave, Mrs. Hilton. 
Your father and I were but going over an old 
argument.” 

He turned away, offering his hand to her 
father, and then, bowing with apparent deep 
respect to her, went quietly from the room, sat- 
isfied with his glimpse into her hurt heart. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

PLEADING. 

When he was gone she stood for a moment 
quite still before her father, guessing what was 
the subject of their conversation, her eyes upon 
him, so unmoved ^nd unmoveable in his arm- 
chair, with the red light from the coals touching 
his white hair and stern face. Then, still stand- 


130 


Under a Cloud, 


ing in that hushed attitude, fighting down her 
heart, she spoke. 

“ Father,’' she said, and the low voice, per- 
fectly steady, helped him to guess of what she 
would speak, “ father, I have kept my promise. 
I heard him pronounced ‘ not guilty.’ I did not 
go near him. He went away with his friends ; 
I came away with mine. So far I have not 
broken my word. But I have come to you now, 
father,” the softness of a prayer in her low 
voice, “ to ask of you this thing : He is ill, father. 
Will you say that I, his wife, may go to him, if 
but for one moment of time, to know how it is 
with him ? To ask if only he is not suffering 
physically, as I know he is, in his heart believ- 
ing that I have failed him when he most needs 
me? Will you remember the time when you 
and my mother were young, and the decree of 
the world was not so strong with you as it is 
now? Will you say that your daughter, who 
has always obeyed you, may be released from 
her promise long enough to know if her husband 
is well and able to bear this last blow? I know 
that he is ill, father! I saw it in his face. 1 


Pleading. 




have been true to you, father, always ! Be kind 
to me now when my happiness is gone from me 
and there is nothing for which I should live but 
to pray for the day to hasten when I may return 
to him and prove that 1 was not false!” 

He was not a hard man at heart, did he but 
leave room for that to throb naturally under 
his shield of pride. He remembered how short 
a time before it was that she had not left the 
home for that of another ; what a dutiful daughter 
she always was^l He looked up to her, standing 
before him in her sombre dress with her beauti- 
ful face pallid with grief, the brilliant eyes afire 
with her pleading — erect, proud, self-possessed. 

He looked up at her standing there in the 
rosy glow, so white and wan and proud. She 
was his daughter, but the world must not be 
flouted. 

He shook his white head, and the stern lips 
under the gray mustache set still more sternly, 
as though he would stifle the words that would 
rise from his heart if he would. 

She did not cry out. Very gently and quietly 
she knelt down beside him, clasping her little 


132 ' 


Under a Cloud, 


hands upon the arm of his chair, and so lifted to 
his her large, dark eyes — larger and darker 
through her suffering. Very softly and low 
were the words uttered that rose from her 
heart. 

“ Father, I am your daughter, but his wife ! 
To you I owe honor and obedience ; to him I 
have passed my word with the sanction of the 
church and the world! Would you have me 
fail him now, when most he needs the care of 
one who loves him ? It is so little that I ask — 
only to go to him and tell him that I am not 
false to my oath, that I am kept from him only 
because of words uttered without my own 
knowledge. I will come back to you when 1 
have told him this, and never until he is proved 
free of touch of evil will 1 again go to him 1” 

Could he refuse her? How proud he was 
that day when she became Roy Hilton’s wife ! 
How the world praised him and them. There 
was no touch of ill upon them then, and he 
would have given this beautiful daughter to no 
other man so willingly, not even to her other 
suitor, her old school-fellow, their murdered 


Pleading. 


133 


friend. And could he still refuse her? He 
looked into the sweet, wide, dark eyes with their 
pleading and their truth, into the pure, pallid 
face, such a short time ago so flushed with hap- 
piness, -and — could he still refuse her ? 

She knew his consent was won. It was sel- 
dom she pleaded with him, but she knew the 
grave, stern face well enough to read the lines 
of relenting. She looked into his eyes, and a 
light crept into her own, a soft touch of color 
drove away for the moment the pallor from the 
cheeks, a ghost of a smile for an instant stirred 
the red lips. 

‘‘You know that I cannot refuse you this,” he 
said slowly, and still very sternly, as though he 
would fight with his heart against the will of the 
world. “ You know what you have been to me 
always, Helen. Remember the proud blood in 
your veins and what is due your position in 
society ; remember the promise you have made 
regarding your future, and then you may go. 
In two hours, when you have accomplished your 
errand — ” he could not bring himself to utter 
the name of her husband, although how proud 


134 


Under a Cloud. 


he used to be to utter it — “ you will return. Do 
not forget whose daughter you are, nor the 
name you used to bear !" 

He turned aside his head, not to see the glad- 
ness flushing her face, not to meet the bright 
eyes, not to know of the red, quivering mouth 
of the woman who was his daughter and the 
wife of the man accused of the murder of his 
friend. 

But she would not be so turned aside ; if he 
was proud, so was she. She did not offer him a 
caress, nor utter one word of thanks. For one 
instant she laid her warm red lips upon the stern, 
firm fingers resting upon the chair arm beside 
her, and then rose as proud and still and beauti- 
ful as when she entered. 

She went from the library to her room — her 
old girlhood’s room — and arranged in its most 
becoming manner the soft hair about her head, 
and the bit of velvet and feathers of a bonnet, 
and with a wrap over the darkness of her gown, 
went down to the carriage which she ordered 
from the stables ere she went up to her room. 
She saw no one but her father and the footman, 


Pleading, 


135 


for she could not bring herself to go to her 
mother’s room, where she knew she would meet 
with new opposition ; but went down very 
quietly to the waiting carriage and was driven 
as swiftly as possible to the dear old home in 
which she had been so happy, in which, too, so 
much sadness had fallen upon her. 

Johnson, the footman, betrayed no surprise at 
seeing her. Every servant in the house was too 
well trained for that. He replied to her inquiry 
for his master as quietly as she asked. Learning 
that the lawyer was still in the house, she asked 
to be taken first to him ; and at that moment, 
Frank Whitney, having seen her arrival, came 
down the stairs to meet her. She gave him no 
explanation for her presence before the servant ; 
but when they were alone in the upper hall, ere 
they entered her room, she asked of him if her 
h.usband were very ill ; and he, knowing that she 
was not to be deceived, replied very gravely that 
he was at that moment tossing upon the bed in 
the height of a dangerous fever, and that they 
were forced to let him remain in her own room. 


136 


Under a Cloud, 


as he could not be quieted when they attempted 
to remove him to his own. 

Then they entered where the sick man lay, 
when she had asked and gained his promise to 
send word to her father of the condition of her 
husband, and to state that, as it was impossible 
for her to fulfil her errand while her husband 
was in such a dangerous condition, she would, 
still keeping to the letter of her promise, remain 
and nurse him until he should recover, or until — 

She could not bring herself to utter what 
would come to her mind, but went ahead of this 
friend very quietly, as though she never left it, 
her black dress brushing the heavy carpet and 
her footsteps noiseless upon it. 

She did not start or change color when she 
saw the change upon the face resting on the 
pillow, though a great change had crossed it 
during the short time that elapsed since she 
waited at the station to see him pass. Fever 
was burning deep color into the sunken cheeks, 
and the blue eyes were shot with fever, moving 
restlessly about the room, while the low voice 
muttered constantly broken snatches and inco- 


Through Hours of Watching, 137 


herent words that brought the swift tears to the 
dark eyes of the woman crossing so softly the 
thick carpet. 

She bent over him, after standing motionless 
for one moment, gazing down upon the changed 
face, and as she laid her cool, soft cheek against 
his, he muttered her name and that of his old 
rival, a dark look on his face. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THROUGH HOURS OF WATCHING. 

Frank Whitney, standing at the door, saw a 
change cross Helen’s face ; and, although he did 
not catch the words so faintly uttered, he knew 
well enough what Roy’s ravings were like, to 
guess that it was this so affecting her. Cross- 
ing the room and standing beside her, he laid his 
hand kindly but firmly on her arm. If she 
would be with the patient, she must command 
herself ; but he could not forget that he loved 
her before she became Roy Hilton’s wife. He 


138 


Under a Cloud, 


did not love her now ; he was too honorable for 
that, and had too strong control of his charac- 
ter ; but he must always remember what she had 
been to him. The great pity in his face and 
voice struck upon her heart most gratefully. 

“ Poor fellow !” he said, softly. “ Poor Roy ! 
You cannot know through what he has passed 
within these three weeks, Mrs. Hilton. Being 
his friend, it has made my heart ache many 
times, going to him as I was able to do. It will 
take our best care to bring him safely through 
this illness.” 

Helen Hilton drew herself up to her full 
height, which left her only to her companion’s 
shoulder, and her large dark eyes flashed with 
proud spirit, and her red lips shut over any cry 
there was in her heart. Would this old friend 
presume upon their friendship to fling before 
her. always her fault of having yielded to the 
persuasion of her parents and leaving her hus- 
band’s home, when all the evidence, so far as 
they could discover, was so black against him ? 
Could he not comprehend what it was to her, 
and how sorely against her will she yielded? 


Through Hours of Watching, 139 


He should know her well enough to be certain 
of that. 

“ Merciful Heavens !” whispered the weak 
voice, as the flushed face upon the pillows 
turned away from them, the unseeing eyes 
brilliant with fever. And he loves her still — 
he dares tell me that he loves her still — ” 

The lawyer glanced hastily at the woman 
beside him to know if these words startled her 
as the others had done. His own face was 
immovable in expression, though very pale, and 
there was that in his eyes that might have 
startled the sick man’s wife indeed, had she seen 
it. But she did not see it. She conquered her 
weakness, after those first words of delirious lips, 
and now she leaned, very white and proud and 
tender, over the flushed face turning upon the 
pillow, as though she would keep from other 
and less loving ears such words as these. Very 
softly and gently she laid her cool hand upon 
her husband’s hot forehead and brushed back 
the fair hair, whispering to him some fond, 
foolish words of her love and care. 

The lawyer turned away when he saw that 


140 


Under a Cloud, 


this woman still was true to herself and her 
husband, and leaving the room as noiselessly as 
he entered, he went into an adjoining room to 
wait until Roy Hilton’s wife should come to him, 
as he knew that she would do when opportunity 
came, and he must see her before he left the 
house. 

It was fully an hour later that Helen Hilton 
came to him from the sick-room, very pale and 
still, but proud and beautiful and womanly as 
ever. She came straight across the long room 
and up to this her husband’s friend and her own. 
She held out her hand with a passionate gesture, 
held in check only by her strong will. Her 
large eyes looked larger and darker in the soft 
light of the room. Her red lips were parted, 
and a half smile rested upon them, but not a 
quiver of fear or unbelief. Her dark head was 
as proudly erect as though never a stain of crime 
rested upon her husband’s name or so fallen upon 
her own. 

“ Frank,” she said quietly, but with an inten- 
sity in her very quietness, her brilliant eyes upon 
his. “ Frank, I have come to you to tell you 


Through Hours of Watching. 14 1 


what it is to me to know that my husband has 
such a friend as yourself in this time of need. I 
have nothing to offer as an excuse to you for my 
harsh conduct in leaving his home and my own 
because of this — wrong done him. You know 
that I went away and gave my promise never to 
return until he shall have. been proved, so inno- 
cent that not a stain can touch his name. But I 
forced from my father the consent to come here 
and tell my husband with my own lips that I did 
not go away because I believed him guilty. 
I have never from the first moment of this terri- 
ble charge believed one word of it. Am not I 
his wife? Could his wife believe that ?” 

Yes, yes, this was the woman he had loved, 
this was not the proud, cold, worldly woman 
who left her husband’s home when calamity fell 
upon him, to rid herself if so she might, of the 
humiliation. This was in truth Roy Hilton’s 
wife, and as true and good and beautiful as on 
the day he married her. 

“ I know,” continued this proud woman, with 
her unfaltering face turned to his, “ I know as 
well as you and they know, that even though the 


142 


Under a Cloud, 


judge and jury acquitted him, there still remains 
a doubt of his innocence. Not in my mind — 
never think that his wife would acknowledge his 
being other than innocent — but there is enough 
against him in spite of this decision, that leaves 
them at liberty to doubt the correctness of the 
verdict. I could never rest, knowing this. 
Never while it remains, will my father or my 
mother allow me to take back my promise and 
return to his home. There must something be 
done to prove beyond doubt that he did not — 
murder — our friend. 

‘'You wonder, Frank Whitney, that I can 
speak upon this subject so quietly. One can do 
anything when once one has made up one’s mind 
so to do. There are many in spite of that 
enthusiastic reception of the verdict, there are 
many in that town, there are those even in this 
city — who believe or declare they so believe, my 
husband guilty. Even with George’s own 
people, this doubt must live until utterly proved. 
I do not blame them. For such a man — so 
noble, so young and true — he was my old play- 
fellow, remember, Frank !— to be so murdered. 


Through Hours of Watching. 143 


would rouse the pity and indignation of any one 
knowing him. There is certain evidence 
against my husband, and this must be cleared 
away. If — if clearing this away should prove to 
his harm ” — she did not falter from meeting his 
eyes, although a deadly pallor struck across her 
face and those brilliant eyes were wide with 
terror — “ still we must sift the matter to the 
utmost extent of the law. Nothing shall remain 
undone that can by any power upon earth cast 
a shadow upon the brave old name and proud old 
blood of the Hiltons ! Nothing shall be left undone 
to clear from the minds of George’s people 
the hint that my husband — I, the friend always, 
always Frank Whitney of this young man so mur- 
dered — /, on the part of my husband, deckre that 
nothing shall go by that can prove the truth.” 

She looked capable of conquering the world 
as she so stood before him, and his eyes proved 
his admiration for her spirit and determination. 

“ Wait one moment, Helen,” he said, earnestly, 
a slow flush dawning in his face. .“You know 
as well as I that there is no dependence to be 
placed upon the ravings of fever, and what Roy 


144 


Under a Cloud. 


says now has no possible weight. One has 
peculiar fancies when one is under the influence 
of fever. The words Roy uttered in our pres- 
ence doubtless arise from the excitement and 
incidents of the trial. That is the last coherent 
remembrance he had, and, consequently, he will 
speak of it in delirium. You are not to think — ” 
“ I had no such thought, indeed,” interrupted 
Helen, hastily. “ I speak from what I have 
thought during these terrible days of waiting, 
and from what was said and done in the court- 
room to-day. As you know, I went there 
against your wish and that of my husband, but 
only because I would be certain as to the truth 
and evidence brought to bear for or against 
him. I must know what was to come. I would 
have him proved innocent, but also know for 
myself that there was not a hint of guilt upon 
him. I knew that this was necessary, if ever I 
would return to my husband’s home. You 
know my people as well as 1. So long as 
there remains doubt of my husband in this 
horrible murder, they would not allow me to 
take back my promise and return to him. I 


Through Hours of Watching. 145 


could not ask it, knowing that I would but be 
refused. 

“ What we have to do, Frank Whitney — and 
you are his friend as well as mine — is to work 
in some powerful way — some way which money 
will open — to discover the true murderer, though 
it takes a fortune to do it. I must know, and — 
1 will r 

She drew back from him, magnificent in her 
pride and her passion, calm though she kept her 
voice. Her dark eyes flashed like fires as they 
were raised to his. Her red lips shut with 
remarkable determination over the last words. 
Her dainty head was lifted like a queen’s. 
There was no hint of ill upon her name or honor. 
There should be none upon that of her husband. 

Her husband’s counsel stood regarding her 
for a moment in silence, as though — the frown 
deepening upon his brow — as though to be very 
certain that she was to be trusted. His eyes 
were unusually keen and stern, meeting those 
eloquent lifted eyes of his friend’s wife. He let 
her withdraw her hands from his, and turned 
from her after this close scrutiny, forgetful, she 


146 


Under a Cloud. 


thought, looking after him, of her presence. But 
she was not a woman easily to be forgotten, and 
he had not forgotten her. He turned from her, 
this deep frown of perplexity and thought upon 
his brow, and paced the room. 

There was some indescribable change upon 
his face, and a pallor unnatural to this self-con- 
tained man of the world. But he went up to her 
and did not flinch from her passionate eyes, and 
the frown was gone from his face. Very quietly 
and distinctly he spoke. She listened to him in 
that proud, still manner of hers, that came only 
with this deadly charge upon her husband. 
Her mind was clear to comprehend his meaning, 
and her pride was equal to his. Long and earn- 
estly they talked in the still room, with only the 
dull rumble of wheels and the low murmur of 
the wind at the windows waking the silence. 

And when they returned to the side of the 
patient, there was a gravity upon both that fell 
during that time of conversation, upon the out- 
come of which Roy Hilton’s fate must hang. 

As Helen bent over her husband’s bed to see 
that he was indeed sleeping, as his closed eyes 


The New Man^' 


147 


led her to believe, they opened suddenly upon 
her with the vacant stare that chilled her heart 
to see ; and starting up in bed, trembling with 
his excitement, he whispered hoarsely, clutching 
her arm to draw her down the better to listen : 

“ And I tell you — any man who dares breathe 
— insult to her — may hold his life — cheaply — in 
my hands !” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE “NEW MAN.” 

A rough looking, roughly dressed, roughly 
speaking man passed through Nanuet, a short 
time before so stirred by the murder and conse- 
quent trial. He was harmless-looking enough, 
but was taken by many for a tramp ; and tramps 
were not admitted into the good graces of the 
village. He created little notice. Whether he 
came on foot or by rail, who knew ? Who would 
have cared, had they known ? 

He passed along the road through the village. 


148 


Under a Cloud. 


and a few remarked him ; that was all. He 
inquired the way to old Hardman’s farm, from 
one or two of those whom he met, saying that 
he heard the old man desired a farm-hand and 
he would be glad of the place if he could suit. 
That somewhat roused the curiosity of those 
questioned. They believed he would not suit, 
but what was it to them, after all ? 

So it was, that, by and by, he came to the 
Hardman farm, through the woods, taking the 
cart track as directed, and turning half way 
through down a hollow to the left, came out 
upon the farm, facing a clearing in the desolate 
wood. A prosperous-looking place enough in 
itself, but evidently kept with closest care for 
the sole money value. The new-comer’s keen 
gray eyes noted everything within sight as he 
walked up the path made by feet coming and 
going — not by hands for adornment. There was 
nothing for mere adornment in the yard about 
the plain, white, unshuttered house, staring with 
its blue-shaded windows upon the wood. There 
was an ^orchard to the right ; the barns and out- 
buildings to the left; and beyond these stretched 


The “ New Man, 


149 


the fields and gardens, ending afar off in the 
dense wood. That was all. 

‘‘ I suppose they’ll give a fellow enough to 
eat, even if they don’t overpay him,” muttered 
the stranger, swaggering up to the door at the 
rear, where only a plank served as porch. 
“ They’d have to feed them enough to get work 
out of them ! Guess the old man knows enough 
for that, if he is so precious close. There is no 
profit in starvation !” 

His rap on the outer door was at first unan- 
swered, but when repeated a second and third 
time, a harsh voice — evidently a woman’s voice 
— called from within, asking who was there. 
When he replied that it was some one sent to 
see Mr. Hardman, the voice only grew more 
harsh in retorting that the man he wished to see 
could not be bothered ; he was not in the house, 
and it would be impossible to say when he could 
be seen. 

Nothing daunted, the stranger made answer 
that he then would wait till the old man came 
back, and sauntered out toward the barns, his 
hands in his pockets, whistling carelessly. This, 


Under a Cloud, 


150 

the owner of the harsh voice evidently per- 
ceived, for presently the door was opened a 
very little way as the tall, hard-featured, sinewy 
woman, pressing her figure in the aperture thus 
made, called to him to come back and wait — if 
he was a-going to wait — in the kitchen there. 

Easily divining that it would bring him no 
good to get the woman’s ill-will, he turned about 
and sauntered back with the air of one accus- 
tomed to roughness of speech and action, and, 
therefore, not at all put out by them ; and when 
the door was opened sufficiently to admit him, 
he passed into the large bare room, and the door 
was quickly closed. Then the woman turned 
upon him, eying him with her cold, shrewd 
eyes, and inquired in a lower tone, but with the 
same unrelenting sternness, for what he wished 
to see old Hardman. She was his niece and 
might do as well. Her uncle was pretty busy 
just then with getting all things ready for the 
winter. He was somewhere about the farm, 
perhaps; perhaps he had gone away; he was 
often called away. 

To this the man replied, quite unmoved, that 


The “ New Man] 


he would wait and see the man ; he was greatly 
obliged to her, he was sure, for her offer, but it 
was necessary for him to see Hardman. Pretty 
bad weather, that, for the fall of the year, didn’t 
she think ? 

“ Yes,” she said, gruffly, with a curt nod of her 
head, “ bad weather, enough, but there were other 
things worse’n the weather to bother one.” 

What was it that bothered her, the man que- " 
ried, with no show of interest other than to gain 
her good will. 

Oh, nothing particular, she said ; nothing par- 
ticular, of course. There was seldom anything 
of importance there to bother any one. But this 
man who was murdered was one of their friends 
(she placed considerable stress upon the word) 
and it wasn’t specially pleasant to have such 
things happen to one’s friends and at one’s very 
door. Then old Hardman wasn’t as strong as he 
might be; some folks said he wasn’t quite right 
in his mind, but that she scouted. She knew him 
better than that. Only it wasn’t comfortable to 
be fretted about this dead man, and have folks 


152 


Under a Cloud, 


running to and fro to make sure of the scene of 
the murder. 

The man, sitting over the pale fire, warming 
his hands, his hat upon his knee, eying her from 
under his half-closed lids, replied that it wasn’t 
well to be bothered ; no, he knew it wasn’t. 
Why didn’t they complain of it, and have it 
stopped ? 

• Oh, yes, said the woman, with a scornful 
shrug of her shoulders, as she went on with her 
work, clearing the wood-box behind the stove 
and refilling it with ragged lengths of stick. 
There was ways, she supposed, to do such things, 
but it made folks surly ; and, then, these rumors 
about that her uncle wasn’t what he was years 
ago, as though anybody would expect that he 
should be. 

Of course, the man replied, nodding his head 
thoughtfully. Who could expect that? Years 
and hard work were not just the sort of things to 
keep a person young and strong. Let those try 
it for themselves that thought differently. 
They’d soon know the truth. 

The woman nodded in concert with her 


The “ New Man, 


153 


strange visitor, but deemed, perhaps, that she had 
said enough. In any event, she kept silence the 
remainder of the time, and it was a pretty long 
time, ere her uncle returned from the lower lots. 

He was just as hard and grasping and mean- 
looking as when he stood with the crowd in the 
court-room and listened to the trial of the man 
accused of murdering one of his friends ; when 
he listened, too, to the half-accusation made 
against his own character by witnesses. His 
small, shrewd eyes looked out at the world with 
scrimping knowledge, as small and hardly pressed 
down as were the measures he gave and the 
measures he received. He could expect little, 
granting so much less. 

His eyes fell instantly upon the stranger sitting 
unmoved over his fire, and his shriveled face 
expressed as much surprise as his face was 
capable of expressing any emotion under any 
circumstances. From his strange guest his eyes 
went to the face of his niece as though he would 
understand how it was that any man dared stand 
— or sit — with such assurance in his house ; and 
she, comprehending, his look, shrugged her 


154 


Under a Cloud. 


shoulders carelessly and explained that this was a 
strange man come to see him and would leave 
no word, but must see him. Then she went on 
with preparing dinner over the same scanty fire, 
as there was nothing in the world could move 
her from her composure. 

But the farmer took this intrusion in quite a 
different light. His small eyes twinkled with 
anger from under their bushy brows, and his 
thin lips with their pale hue — there was too 
little blood in his body even to tinge his lips — 
he asked with considerable more roughness 
what this man had to say, and why he could not 
have said it to the woman instead of waiting 
there where he was neither invited nor wanted. 

Evidently used to such a manner of address, 
the stranger stated his errand and that he was 
sent over to old Hardman from a friend in 
Nyack; and with that he drew forth a letter 
from his inner pocket and handed it to his 
questioner. The old man’s eyesight was pretty 
good for such an old shriveled man, and without 
waiting for his spectacles he opened the note and 
read what it contained with an air of suspicion 


The “ New Man." 


155 


that must have made itself felt — for he had too 
few people for neighbors and fewer acquaint- 
ances whom he claimed as friends to place much 
credence on this part of the statement. But 
what he read was apparently satisfactory in 
spite of his former suspicion, for when he read 
it twice to make sure nothing escaped him, he 
turned to the man and demanded rather sharply 
what sort of farm-work he had done and could 
do, and if he could manage cattle and milk and 
do all the endless things requisite upon a 
farm. 

“ Fer my farm ain’t special easy to keep in 
order,” he explained, with a grin of intense satis- 
faction upon his face, “ fer the reason of its bein’ 
of considerable size, neighbor. Ye’ll have to 
work up pretty hard an’ make your mind easy 
with our plain eatin,’ an’ keep al’ays a quiet 
tongue, fer quiet tongues is better, an’ does 
more the world over than all the clatter o’ half 
a hundred noisy ones. An’ we’re quiet folk 
here, anyways,” he added, with that strange, 
wrinkled parting of his lips that could never be 
graced with the appellation of a smile, 


Under a Cloud. 


156 

To all of which the stranger gave plain and 
satisfactory answers ; and when the farmer had 
done questioning him, he was informed that he 
might remain until the next afternoon, when he 
— Hardman — was going over to Nyack,. and 
could inquire if all was right regarding the 
note. If all was well he would be given a place 
upon the farm and retained there so long as his 
services were needed, or he proved himself 
worthy. 

After the plain dinner of meat and vegetables 
— and little enough of them — the new man — 
John King, he gave his name — was sent out with 
the two other men to begin his duties, and so 
to work out his board, should it be proved on 
the morrow that he was not what he claimed to 
be. But when the morrow came and the old 
man went to town, he discovered that the new 
man had not deceived him. 

Finding nothing wrong in all this, Josiah 
Hardman finished such other business as he had 
in the town, and returned home, reaching there 
after dark, as the days were short and the 


The Chink in the Window. 


57 


storms across the early winter making the 
nights dark with cloud and lowering winds and 
chilling rains over the wild world. 


CHAPTER XVll. 

THE CHINK IN THE WINDOW. 

John King made no special remark when 
informed by his master that he would continue 
in his present position, the reference obtained 
having no flaw in it. He was called into the 
kitchen where Hardman and his niece were sit- 
ting more over than before the fire, after the 
short supper ; and this news, imparted in as few 
words as were necessary to impress upon the 
hearer the concession granted him by their ever 
accepting him upon any terms of any one’s 
recommendation, the old farmer, with his long, 
bony fingers clasped around a tumbler of cider 
upon the bare pine table beside him as he 
talked, his wary eyes showing that he feaVed 


Under a Cloud. 


158 


even that scant luxury might be taken from him 
did he not retain hold of it. 

Certainly not a pleasant or reassuring sight 
this, but the man summoned into their presence 
might have been blind for all notice he took of 
it. He heard his master’s message with a stolid 
face, and when he had done, nodded carelessly, 
as though it were of little moment to him 
whether he remained or not, though there was a 
gleam of satisfaction in the keen eyes turned 
upon the scant face before him that belied his 
manner. Then he went from the room, as he 
was bidden to do, and back to the room over 
the stables, where the hired men were expected 
to make themselves as comfortable or uncom- 
fortable as circumstances would permit. 

“ He’s disposed of,” said the woman, senten- 
tiously, when John King was gone, her sharp 
eyes upon the old man’s face. She rather 
resented this habit of his to indulge himself in 
the luxury of even a glass of cider over the fire 
of an evening, for she was a saving woman, was 
old Hardman’s niece, “ Mighty glad to get it, 


The Chink in the Window. 


59 


too, I think, Can’t al’ays get a place like 
this.” 

The old man nodded several times, as though 
in this way he conveyed a good deal of intelli- 
gence to the watching woman. Words were 
often such useless things. He raised the glass 
to his shrunken lips, his hand trembling some- 
what. The woman’s eyes were sharp to note 
this weakness. A gleam appeared in them. 
T he old man was very old, and when he died 
this place would be hers by rights ; she worked 
hard enough for it ; she sold her soul even to 
retain her hold upon it ; and when this trem- 
bling, mumbling old man died it should be hers. 
His dead daughter left no children, and the 
husband could claim nothing unless there should 
be a will ; and she made sure of there being no 
will not long after she entered the household 
and bent her energies to holding and increasing 
what was already hoarded by her uncle in his 
grasping life. 

An’ you made sure from Julian thet he was 
all right, did you ?” she asked, by and by, after 
a long silence, during which the old man drank 


i6o 


Under a Cloud. 


his cider with childish delight, and his niece 
could have found it in her heart to knock the 
glass from his hold and dash it into fragments if 
so she might break up this habit of his that must 
end in some harm to them ; for when a man is 
under the influence of liquor, be it only cider 
and strong enough, he will say and do many 
things, she believed, that at another time torture 
could not wring from him. 

The old man nodded again and muttered 
“Yes” in a low voice, with a shrinking glance 
behind him. Then he sat with his fingers 
around the glass, watching greedily the last few 
drops it contained. 

“ It’s the best way !” retorted the woman, 
with a short laugh, shrugging her shoulders* 
“ Make sure of ’em, you know !” 

The old man lifted his eyes to her face and 
then let them drop again quickly as though he 
dared not or was powerless to meet her eyes. 
The yellowish pallor habitual to his face deepened 
for the moment to a ghastly hue. Then he, too, 
laughed in a harsh, broken, stealthy manner. 

“Yes, it’s al’ays best, Jane — it’s al’ays best to 












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The Chink in the Wmdow, 


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make sure !'’ he said, shaking with his uncanny 
mirth. “ We ain’t got much here — we ain’t got 
much; but what we has we want to keep.” 

“ He wanted to see you when he corned first,” 
said the woman, when all signs of this mirth 
died away. They had a habit of continuing con- 
versation in this abrupt way. Hours might 
elapse between such short bits of talk, but they 
understood each other. That was one of their 
ties. “ He said ’t he would see 3’ou. I said he 
couldn’t, an’ he didn’t.” Grim satisfaction in 
this piece of shrewdness. “There ain’t never 
no tellin’ what folks want, cornin’ on one so.” 

The wood in the stove burned down lower 
and lower, until only a dead bed of ashes was 
left to warm the two sitting before it. The 
candle — for candles are cheaper and safer than 
oil—sputtered and sizzled and flared wanly, mak- 
ing the bare room more desolate and drear}" 
than daylight showed it to be, and it was dreary 
enough then. Outside, the wind whistled shrilly 
through the twisted tree-boughs close to the 
house, even tapping now and then against the 
boards, as though some hand were knocking 


i 62 


Under a Cloud. 


warningly to those two sitting over the dying 
fire. 

“ An’ there’s things as happens,” said the 
woman, leaning forward, her sharp eyes never 
moving from the shriveled face opposite her, 
one rough hand held out, one long finger empha- 
sizing every word, as though, perhaps, the old 
man’s memory were poor — “ there’s things as 
happens unbeknown sometimes in these lonely 
places, you know. It’s al’ays best to be sure.” 

The old man shivered. The fire was almost 
out, and the wind was sharp for finding out 
cracks, he muttered, vaguely. His face wore 
once more that livid hue that was more ghastly 
than his usual pallor. He thrust out his two 
bony hands toward his companion, as though he 
would silence the words upon her lips. Since 
that murder in the woods so near his house, he 
was wild with terror upon such mad nights as 
this. 

It’s so lonely, you know,” repeated the 
woman, as though she took some horrible 
pleasure in torturing the man with what she 


^riie Chink in the Window. 163 

knew he feared. “ An there’s them as has no 
fear o* justice in their greed.” 

The old man made no answer, but he was a 
pitiable sight, as he shrank closer over the stove 
from which the fire was gone utterly out. He 
withdrew his hands from reaching out to the 
woman, and stretched them upon the very stove 
itself to gain some heat. It was deadly cold 
that night, he mumbled under his breath, as 
though he were intoxicated by the glass of cider. 
He scowled, and his bushy brows sank down 
startlingly over the small eyes. Horribly cold 
that night ! 

The woman seemed satisfied with her conver- 
sation, for she rose and stood up considerably 
above him in stature, as though to prove to him 
how weak he was beside her, and, with a harsh 
laugh upon her lips, took down a candle from 
the shelf behind the stove, and lighting it at the 
scrap of candle in the candlestick upon the table, 
turned away and left the room without further 
words. There were never any endearments 
between these two. It would have been out of 
human possibility. 


164 


Under a Cloud, 


When she was gone, the old man seemed to 
sink into a state of semi-unconsciousness, staring 
at the stove, his hands still upon it, cold though 
it was slowly growing under them. Then when 
midnight was over the world, and scarcely a 
spark was left in the candlestick beside him, he 
rose with a shiver, his thin form bent as though 
grown remarkably old during that one night, 
and making the dying candle last him, that he 
might save even that, he made certain the win- 
dows and door were secure, and groped his way 
from the room to the one just above, where he 
slept ; the faint spark of his candle looking like 
an emblem of the life in his shriveled, stricken 
figure stumbling noiselessly along the narrow 
stairs. 

But which one of those two would have 
dreamed — if ever they dreamed at all — that the 
blustering night of storm hid very near to them 
a stealthy form that lingered close — very close 
to the chink in one of the windows, where a ray 
of light struck upon the darkness, and through 
which a sharp eye could, if very intent, note 
what was passing within Which of those two, 


Mts Whitney s Caller. 


165 


each striving to outdo the other in shrewdness, 
could have guessed that every word that was 
uttered that night, while the wind whistled so 
uncannily and the tree-boughs tapped warningly 
against the boards, was overheard by another 
than themselves, fastened in securely, as they 
believed themselves to be ! 

Would the old man have stolen so noiselessly 
up to bed with that spark of light tracing his 
way, with even his little peace of mind, had he 
known? Would the woman have laughed so 
easily when she turned from the only person to 
whom she was attached by the ties of blood in 
all the wide world ? 


CHAPTER XVin 

MR= WHITNEY’S CALLER. 

Frank Whitney was in his office when Mr. 
Carleton was announced by his office boy. Very 
handsome he looked— Neil Carleton— as he 
walked into the elegant office with his tall, well* 


Under a Cloud. 


1 66 


knit figure, his fashionable dress, his close-cut 
black hair and easy smile that never — the one 
striking thing about him — that never, at any time, 
extended to the lazy black eyes. He entered 
the room with the grace and ease of a prince, 
but every one of Frank Whitney’s friends or 
acquaintances was certain beforehand that he 
would receive warm welcome. 

The handsome lawyer reading a letter with a 
good deal of interest, judging from the frown 
upon his face, folded it, and, still holding it, but 
in a manner that made it impossible for any other 
to even guess at the handwriting, turned with 
his pleasant smile toward the new-comer. 

“ How are you, Carleton ? Glad to see you. 
Be seated — I’ll give you the easiest chair in the 
room here ! I know you, you see !” 

“ It is always best to take life easy, Whitney,” 
replied Mr. Carleton, smiling, as he took the 
stuffed chair his friend pushed toward him. 
‘‘You’d be better yourself and live longer if you 
did not grind, grind, grind from morning to 
night. There’s no excuse for this grinding of 


Mr. Whitney s Caller. 


167 


the old mill of the world’s gods. I came in on 
purpose to warn you, Frank!” 

Whitney laughed, but his eyes glanced 
sharply, nevertheless, at the unconcerned face 
opposite him. 

“ You’re one of the easiest going fellows, 
Carleton,” he replied, calmly, twirling the letter 
he held in his left hand carefully round and 
round. “ I’m not. Because I happen to have 
money is no reason for my wasting the one tal- 
ent given me, if it is a talent, to help out of the 
sloughs of the law such poor fellows as slip in. 
It’s a pleasant thing to feel that a body has pos- 
sibly saved a life. The law’s a great thing — 
powerful. You commit a murder, or hatch up 
one, and I’ll hang yoli, Carleton.” 

He laughed, and those sharp eyes that could 
be so pleasant with smiling when he chose, were 
upon the lazy black eyes of his companion. 
Carleton laughed, too, but he moved uneasily in 
the chair, and tapped his fingers restlessly upon 
the arm. 

“You are a deuced queer fellow, Whitney,” 
he said, shrugging his shoulders and raising his 


Under a Cloud, 


1 68 


eyebrows a trifle. It may be all very nice for 
you to hang me, but I really don’t care to be 
hung, thank you. It must be slightly uncom- 
fortable, and I go in for comfort in this 
world.” 

“And the next?” queried the lawyer, with 
sudden sharpness, flipping the edge of his desk 
with the letter. “ I presume you never think of 
the next world, Carleton. Such fellows as your- 
self seldom think of unpleasant things.” 

Carleton frowned slightly, but answered, with 
his usual ease : 

“ There may be no next, Whitney. Some of 
the strong philosophers say so. But if there 
is — ” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, 
as though he must of necessity let the scarcely 
probable next world take care of itself ; it was 
enough to take care of one’s self in this one. 

“ But, by the bye, Whitney,” he added, after a 
moment, removing a speck from the sleeve of 
his coat, with great care, “ talking of courts 
reminds me that I came in particularly to 
inquire about Hilton. Of course, one cannot go 
to the house. As you’re next best, you know — 


Mr, Whitney s Caller, 


169 


that’s one good thing about being a lawyer ; you 
can fathom the family secrets where you will — 1 
have come to ask you how the poor fellow gets 
on, and how his wife takes this change in their 
fortunes. Remarkably handsome woman Helen 
Hilton is. It’s a shame that she should be 
placed in this uncomfortable position through 
her husband’s carelessness — ” 

“ Her husband’s thoughtfulness, you mean, I 
presume,” interrupted the lawyer, quietly, a 
gleam in the steady eyes set upon the handsome 
face at his right. “ If Hilton had been any other 
man, he would not have attempted following 
Chesney and taking back his hard words. That 
wasn’t Hilton. Not he. He felt himself in the 
wrong and attempted to right it. He swears 
this. I believe it. All his friends believe it, and 
the court acquitted him, not feeling justified in 
convicting such a man upon the evidence.” 

“ And so,” said Carleton, leaning back lazily in 
his chair, his black eyes half-closed, regarding 
his companion as though he would fathom his 
calmness. “ And so, through this absurd sense 
of honor — ” 


170 


Under a Cloud, 


“Through this high sense of honor,” cor- 
rected the lawyer, quietly, his eyes meeting 
those gleaming half-closed eyes. “ What then, 
Carleton ?” 

“Well, high sense, or low sense,” continued 
Carleton, with a careless shrug of his shoulders, 
“ through this action, be it what it may, he laid 
this disgrace upon his wife — as beautiful a 
woman as is in the city — and upon her family as 
well ! If that is what you call the Good-Samari- 
tan act, I don’t approve of it. He should have 
known that exposure of their quarrel would 
place shame and publicity upon his wife through 
the relation existing between Helen and Ches- 
ney. It wasn’t as I would have done, if I pos- 
sessed such a wife as his.” 

“ No,” said the lawyer, very quietly, his eyes 
growing more keen than before. “ I think it 
was not, Carleton.” 

Silence for a short time following this. Then 
Carleton, straightening up in his chair prepara- 
tory to rising and leaving, greater carelessness 
than before in his face and voice, said lightly : 

“ Any trace of the true murderer, Whitney ? 


Mr, Whit7iey s Caller. 


171 


Of course, they haven't given up search. The 
Chesneys alone would move heaven and earth 
to discover the right man; they offer a big 
reward in that direction ; but Hilton's friends 
should do their best as well." 

Frank Whitney very deliberately snapped the 
letter he held in his left hand with the slim fin- 
gers of his right, his eyes upon Carleton's face, 
not a sign of his inner thoughts betrayed, as he 
answered, with as much carelessness: 

“ I presume they will continue the search, 
Carleton ; they'd not be the men I take them for 
if they desist here. If anything further is to be 
made known, it will be made known when the 
court chooses, and not before. That’s what I 
have learned through my life behind the bar, 
and it is the best way. They will discover the 
real murderer, you need have no fear." 

It is really nothing to me, of course," was 
Carleton’s careless reply, as he rose and turned 
from the busy desk of his friend. “ But I should 
think it must go pretty black for Hilton, unless 
the true murderer turns up some time. That's 
all ! Good morning, Whitney. I leave you to 


Under a Cloud. 


172 


your search for the philosopher’s stone of 
wisdom in your musty law books. A free life 
is all I ask of the fates.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

MISS KITTY BELAIRE. 

He went away curiously conscious that his 
visit fell rather flat, as to information received, 
even in relation to Hilton’s condition, or the 
manner of Helen’s endurance of the blow upon 
their proud old name. While the lawyer, turn- 
ing back from the door when his visitor was 
gone, reseated himself before his desk and sat 
for a long time with his eyes bent upon it, the 
deep frown of thought marring the smoothness 
of his brow, the letter now open in his hand. 
He bit his lip, too, now and then, as though to 
keep back some annoying exclamation. What 
final decision he came to who could tell? Many 
strange things happened in that office of his as 
in other law offices, but by and by he touched 


Miss Kittle Belaire. 


173 


the call-bell upon his desk, and, when his boy 
appeared, sent word in for Miss Belaire to come 
to him for dictation. 

Now Miss Kitty Belaire, Mr. Whitney’s stem 
ographer and typewriter, was the daintiest of 
business women as she entered with her tablet 
and pencil, a soft color in her cheeks, though 
the clear hazel eyes were steady and swift to 
catch thought. She and Frank Whitney were 
friends before the great change in her fortunes 
left her out of the circle of her fashionable life, 
and before she, refusing the dependence offered 
her by others, chose, with high-minded indepen- 
dence — absurdity, some called it — to herself bear 
the burdens placed upon her decidedly grace- 
ful shoulders. Frank Whitney, with his chivalry 
and earnest wish to further this true desire of 
the little woman, offered her this position when 
she was qualified to fill it, and in that position 
she was for a year up to the time of her entrance 
into his office the morning of Mr. Carleton’s 
visit. 

She never presumed upon their former social 
acquaintance ; she even refused many little acts 


174 


Under a Clotcd, 


of kindness from her employer because of that ; 
but ^he held a high place in his opinion, and, 
fulfilling her duties promptly and well, what 
more could be desired ? 

She seated herself at his desk in the chair Mr. 
Carleton lounged so lazily in but a few moments 
before, and waited for her friend’s pleasure. 

She was a pretty sight in her neat black dress, 
with her neat black apron, embroidered round 
the edge by her mother’s needle, her pretty hair 
arranged as neatly as her dress. 

The lawyer, lifting his eyes from the desk and 
meeting this pleasant vision, searched her face 
keenly for a moment, and then, satisfied, smiled 
slowly. 

Miss Belaire, I wonder if there is any part of 
my business which you do not understand 
almost as well as I ?” he said, pleasantly. It 
would never do for me to stand in the prisoner’s 
dock with you in the witness stand against me. 
The Hiltons are friends of yours as well as of 
mine. You are Mrs. Hilton’s truest friend. 
You know what sort of woman she is.” 

“Yes,” she said, quietly, a soft light in her 


Jkfzss Kit tie Belaire, 


175 


eyes. “ Mrs. Hilton is one of the sweetest 
women I know, and one of the noblest.” 

He nodded, approvingly. The kindly expres- 
sion was predominating now upon his face. 

“ You are acquainted with Mr. Carleton, Miss 
Belaire ?” 

“ I know him very slightly,” she replied, 
evasively, toying with the pencil in her 
hand. 

“ Do you like him — do you respect him — 
honor him. Miss Belaire? You will pardon my 
questions, I am sure, when you learn my reasons 
for asking,” he added, quickly, noting the 
expression of her face. ‘‘ I would not presume 
to ask, were there not good reason for so doing, 
believe me.” 

“ I believe you,” she said, quietly. Her life 
had taught her wonderful self-command. “ I 
really know very little about Mr. Carleton, Mr. 
Whitney. He is no friend of mine. One 
can know little of those outside a friend’s 
barrier.” 

“ But you have formed an opinion of him, 
Miss Belaire,” added the lawyer, calmly. “ You 


Under a Cloud. 


1 76 

need not answer my questions ; your face has 
already done that.” He rested his elbow upon 
the desk and leaned forward toward her, his 
eyes upon hers. He honored and trusted this 
woman greatly. “ Carleton’s one of the easy fel- 
lows, you know. Doesn’t want to be displaced 
by any one. He likes life to go pretty well 
with him. He has little faith in the power of 
the law, after all. He said just now that things 
must go blackly with Hilton if the true 
murderer does not show up. It is our deter- 
mination to sift the matter to the very bottom. 
Hilton shall be cleared if it is possible again 
that subtle change upon his face as when he 
faced his friend’s wife in the quiet room some 
weeks before. 

As you know, after those weeks of severe 
illness, Hilton is slowly recovering, but can 
never be himself until something definite is 
known. Before long his wife must return to 
her old home. That will be very bitter to her 
husband. I would prevent it if I could, but I 
think it may be well in the end. Hear me out 
with patience, please. That sounds harsh, but 


Miss Kit tie Belaire. 


177 


it is not. I will tell you, Miss Belaire, that, 
although the jury acquitted Hilton, things do 
look black for him at present. You need not 
start. I tell you this plainly. You have heard 
as unvarnished truth before, and will listen 
quietly to this.” 

His eyes were meeting hers steadily, and she 
did not betray the slightest excitement. 

“ In this busy life, as you know, I am often 
called away upon business, sometimes unexpect- 
edly and suddenly, making it impossible to make 
my plans here or leave any order for the day, 
possibly for many days.” He straightened up 
and leaned back in his chair, as though this were 
the merest bit of trivial office order, and taking 
the letter from the desk where he laid it upon 
her entrance — the first time it left his hand since 
he first took it up — he continued : 

“ I have often thought it advisable to speak to 
you upon this matter. Miss Belaire, and this is 
as good an opportunity as any. In a moment I 
shall dictate an answer to this letter, and I would 
like you to take it down separate from the 
general dictation, giving to me the original and 


178 


Under a Cloud, 


the copy when you have finished with them. 
Also, I wish this letter directed to the person 
whom I will presently name, not by machine, 
but in your largest ordinary hand. The letter 
itself will be type-written. 

“ You have proved that I can trust you,” he 
added, smiling, “ You are as silent in regard to 
what you know of this office as though you were 
of stone. I wouldn’t trust many women so far !” 

The color was warm in her face, but she was 
perfectly self-possessed as she said, quietly : 

Your opinion of women should be better, 
Mr. Whitney, knowing Mrs. Hilton so well. I 
wish you possessed more faith in our sex !” 

The smile deepened upon his lips and even 
flashed from his eyes, as he regarded her, his 
quick ear catching the note of wistfulness in her 
soft voice. Kittie Belaire had a delightful voice. 
Even her employer delighted to hear it. 

“ I trust you,” he said kindly. 1 trust you 
entirely. Miss Belaire, as presently I shall show. 
And I trust Mrs. Hilton. Some day I may have 
cause to trust more than two women ; but my 
life behind the scenes gives me sometimes a 


Miss Kitty Belaire, 


179 


harsher view of life than all. Nevertheless, this 
is not coming to the subject for which I sum- 
moned you. I will show by what I say now that 
I do trust you utterly.” 

Once more he bent toward her, his eyes upon 
her face. She knew that he had something 
important to tell her, and there could have been 
no more perfect a listener than she. 

“ If, at any time. Miss Belaire, while I am 
absent, there should come for me any message — 
telegram or order — I give you full authority to 
open the same, and if there is need of immediate 
action concerning it, you will see either that it 
is done, or if it is something, perhaps, that would 
be best kept to ourselves, you will yourself do 
whatever is necessary. The fulfillment of 
important business may some day rest in this 
way upon your shoulders, but I know that I can 
trust you. If this business happens to be such 
that either you or others could not enter into it 
without my presence, I will always leave with 
or send you my address wherever I may go, that 
you may at once send on for me. Just at this 
time care in this matter will prove ot vast import- 


Under a Cloud. 


i8o 


ance. I know that you comprehend what I 
mean and will faithfully carry out my wishes. 

“ Now, Miss Belaire, if you are ready for dicta- 
tion, I will give you the reply to this letter, and 
wish it ready for the mail within fifteen minutes, 
as I then have to go out, and will mail it myself. 
When one does one’s own business, one is so 
certain that it is accomplished.” 

He smiled upon his attentive listener, and, 
unfolding the letter before him, glanced hastily 
over it to make certain nothing was gone from 
his memory, and began his dictation. 

He did this carefully, word for word, and 
when it was copied, and the letter with the copy 
brought to him, it was addressed in a clear but 
rather masculine hand to : 

John King, Esq., 

Nanuet, N. Y. 



CHAPTER XX. 

OLD HARDMAN’S BOY. 

December storms and gales gave place, as the 
weeks went by, to late January, and the world 
was white with snow and very, very cold. As 
hard a winter, people said, as the autumn had 
been dark. 

Old Hardman shivered over his low fire even- 
ings, with his cider at his hand, and his niece 
taunted him now and then, when the mood was 
upon her, with his fear and his weakness. He 
was failing somewhat, this hard old man, with 
no trace of life’s snow upon him, no hint of life’s 
beauty or softness, of the days when the Now 
stands upon the brink of the Hereafter. He 
still clutched as eagerly the gain that came to 
him, and chuckled over his shrewdness and the 
sharpness of the woman in his house ; and 


i 82 


Under a Cloud. 


shivered and shriveled and trembled more and 
more, as the weeks slipped away. 

The new man got along as well as could be 
expected with his hard master and his greedy 
mistress. His fellow-^vorkers, at first suspicious 
of him, kept aloof from him until, by his good 
humor and apparent unconsciousness of any ill 
feeling toward himself, he brought them to a 
better state of mind, although still they did not 
make as free with him, or when he was with 
them, as among themselves. Of this, however, 
the man made no complaint, and whistled as 
cheerily about his work or trudged on as 
steadily as any man of stolid, easy habits of 
thought should do. If his comrades would not 
make friends with him, he could dispense with 
them. He did his work as though he were the 
best liked of the four; for old Hardman’s boy 
was counted as one of them. 

The boy was slender, sixteen or thereabouts, 
his hard life leaving no room for certainty as to 
that ; and there was that in his manner and face 
that proved he was cowed by brutality and 
rendered fearful by blows. There was nothing 


Old Hardman s Boy, 


183 


ill-favored about him, save his wan face and 
habitual look of fear. His eyes were bright, 
though they kept furtive watch continually, lest 
some chance mistake should bring upon him as 
prompt punishment. His smile would have 
been good to see, were it not that when it 
crossed his lips — it was seldom, in truth — it was 
more sad than merry, and only made his thin 
face such as would cause a good woman’s heart 
to ache. 

His companions gave little heed to him, at 
best. They grumbled at him when things went 
wrong, because he was young and helpless and 
would take their abuse meekly. But when he 
did not force his presence upon them in such 
moods, they got on with him well enough. This 
until the new man came upon the farm. 

Tom Day, the boy’s name was, and he and 
John King, the new man, yoked together,” the 
other men said, pretty fair for a grown man and 
a little chap. Why this was, who could tell? 
The new man practiced no arts upon the boy ; 
he took almost as little notice of him as the 
others; but if chance or their work brought 


184 


Under a Cloud, 


them together, perhaps he spoke more kindly to 
him, or helped him when it was possible and his 
work was harder than usual. Some men were 
foolish enough to do such things, and this man 
might be one of them. So long as he did not 
interfere with them what had they to say? 

This man came upon the boy, one day, strug- 
gling with the work of cutting up a heavy load 
of rough wood drawn in from the woods and 
left until winter brought lighter work and an 
opportunity to set one of the men at work upon 
it. It was particularly hard work, and too 
severe for such young arms, weakened as they 
were from scant living and abuse, and the boy 
was doing his best, with a downcast face, when 
this man came upon him. He was a rough man 
and used to rough life, but his eyes flashed as he 
came up, and a frown was upon his face, that 
disappeared ere he addressed the other. 

“ Always hard at work, Tom,” he said, 
cheerily, shrugging his shoulders with great 
significance. “ Eh, but it’s a hard life at best, lad, 
and those as works us poorer ones will some 


Old Hardman s Boy. 


185 


time, maybe, learn it. Give us a hand there with 
that. It’s too heavy for you to manage alone.” 

“Oh, no!” The boy looked up, frightened, 
and wiped with one ragged sleeve the perspira- 
tion from his flushed and heated face. It was in 
mid-winter and the snow lay thick upon the 
ground, but his work kept out the cold, indeed, 
as his master had told him with immense satis- 
faction, chuckling, when he set him upon it. 
“ It’d never do — never, Mr. King. He,” with a 
suggestive nod backward toward the house, “ set 
me to it, an’ he’d never let no one help me ; 
’tain’t his way. You know master. He’s may 
be kind enough, but he won’t let nobody help 
you when once he’s said fer you to do some’at. 
It is good of you, Mr. King ; but I wouldn’t 
dare.” 

The big man laughed roughly, and his eyes 
twinkled with some inner appreciation of the 
situation, for he walked up and took the saw 
from the boy’s hand with extreme authority. 

“ Now when I say that I’ll do a thing, it most 
generally happens that I do dt, lad,” he said, 
grimly ; “ and it’s best for those whom I say it to. 


Under a Clotid, 


1 86 


to let me alone for doing it ! If old Hardman 
has any fault to find about my sawing this wood, 
let him come along and tell me, and 1 think I 
can settle with him tolerably sudden. Such 
work as this isn’t for such arms as yours, and as 
long as Jack King’s about these parts you’re not 
going to do it, either ! Do you suppose I’m 
afraid of old Hardman — or that woman? 
Humph !” His big broad shoulders seemed to 
shrug of themselves like the powerful shoulders 
of some massive dog. “ If you have any such 
notion, you may as well get rid of it now. Let 
him say his say when he’s of a mind, and then 
I’ll say mine ! I’d as lief have it done now as any 
time. And mind this, lad he rested for a 
moment upon the huge saw and placed one 
heavy boot upon the log of wood before him, his 
keen eyes upon the shrinking boy, who always 
attained to some degree of dignity when in his 
presence, there was something so big and quiet 
and powerful about him. “ If ever you’re afraid 
of the consequences of such an encounter between 
old Hardman and Jack King, I’ll invite you along 
to see the proceeding, wherever it takes place ! 


Old Hardman s Boy. 


187 


Jack King's seen maybe more such men — or 
makeshifts for men — than ever youve seen in 
your whole living days ! And — there — ain’t one 
— such — as he is afraid of !” 

With this strong assertion the big man took 
down his big boot with special deliberation, 
hauled up the saw in his muscular arms, and set- 
ting it upon the exact spot upon which to begin 
operations, set to with a will that left nothing 
for the boy to do but look on and admire. 

Winter moved along with snow and rough 
winds and hard weather. Cold, very, very cold, 
the old man often muttered, crouching over the 
fire, his hands reached out for warmth that was 
wanting, his eyes narrowing and contracting 
whenever a louder gust of wind than usual 
swept around the house and shrieked at the cor- 
ners or shrilled in a ghostly fashion at the win- 
dows, rattling them, shaking them like angry 
hands mad to enter, mad to tear the crouching, 
shivering, shriveled man into atoms in its wrath. 

Perhaps the wind knew more than any one of 
the silent figure so often hidden in the night’s 


i88 


Under a Cloud, 


darkness close to that window nearest the two 
over their faint fire — near the window where the 
chink in the shade left the room for an intent 
eye to watch what went on. 

A hard, cold winter, the old man muttered 
often and often, crouching so with the hard 
woman, apparently unmindful of heat or cold, 
beside him. 

Their conversations were as brief and keen 
for their own knowing, as ever. The woman, in 
her hard, harsh strength, taunted the old, weak, 
grasping man, who would sell his soul for added 
copper or scrip, and whose one agony seemed 
that some night, when the winter winds were 
wild and the world was locked in ice, out of the 
night some ghastly form would creep, and creep 
nearer and nearer and nearer through those 
dense woods toward the village where the mur- 
dered man lay upon the snow under the crisp 
November sky, now covered with the down of 
the northern world, and so coming out from 
darkness into the darkness of the old house, 
should find him crouching over the dying fire 


A Terrified Whisper, 


189 


alone, and, with its powerful arm uplifted, strike 
hiniy as that other man was struck by a bullet 
swift as thought. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A TERRIFIED WHISPER. 

So the winter went on, and it was nearly 
spring again, and the cold did not so intensely 
creep into the bare kitchen to chill the old man. 
Every day was as the day before and as the day 
to come, so far as unobservant eyes could see. 
Hard life for men ; hard life for master and mis- 
tress ; hard life for the boy slowly waking to 
some sort of life under his new friend’s care. 
Perhaps the silent figure never tiring in its 
silent watch at the window when night set dark- 
ness upon the world, heard and saw things 
others could not know ; but if so, all things 
went on smoothly and silently and uneventfully 
as ever. 

Tom, the boy, was in disgrace with his master. 


190 


Under a Cloud. 


and, like all under him, was continually under 
distrust and dislike. He had not done such 
work as was given him to do during the day, 
and many blows fell to his lot and much abuse 
besides. His friend was not by at the time, and 
the unprotected boy bore with his usual silence 
the treatment that lightened lately for him. 
But when the day was over and work was done 
with until morning, the big man came upon Tom 
hidden among the the hay in the loft, where he 
was gone for the night’s feed for the cattle — 
sobbing with a boy’s grief and with more than 
ordinary bitterness over the day’s harshness. 
The big man, rough though he was, was gentle 
with this lad at such times. Now he made no 
exclamation that might by chance be overheard 
and so betray their confidence ; but he knelt 
down at the poor fellow’s side and laid his 
heavy hand with remarkable lightness upon his 
shoulder. 

“ Eh, Tom, lad,” he said, softly, his eyes burn- 
ing with some inner thought — “eh, Tom, it’s a 
bitter world a man lives in. But what’s amiss 


A Terrified Whisper, 


191 


now? You can tell it to me. Something to do 
with that old brute ?” 

The boy cowered more and more in the fra- 
grant, dry hay, over which the cattle would soon 
stand, with their heavy breathing and their 
stolid eyes, as though life to them were a 
mystery, too. Then he lifted his convulsed face 
to this strange friend beside him in the darkness 
of the barn, and put timidly out one rough hand, 
as though even this rough man’s sympathy were 
the gentleness of angels to him in his solitary 
life of hardship. 

Hush !” he whispered, so hoarsely the man 
bent to catch the words. Hush, Mr. King • 
’Ssh ! ’Tain’t safe to breathe hereabouts. 
Maybe you don’t know that if master caught 
you or any one a-saying such things, he’d — 
he’d—” 

The horrified voice died off in silence, as 
though its very terror stifled sound. The man 
laughed, but in the same hushed manner as that 
in which the boy spoke. He might be brave, 
but he was no fool. Then he bent lower over 
the crouching figure beside him in the hay, and 


Under a Cloud. 


19^ 


feeling certain that they were alone and beyond 
observation, took up his lantern, which he had 
placed carefully in a safe corner, and turning on 
the bull’s eye, flashed it upon the face of his 
companion. 

A pallid, terrified, rather ghastly face this that 
met his sight. The slim figure, shivering as 
though with the cold of which the old man over 
his fire muttered. The rough hands were 
clasped tightly together and pressed down upon 
his breast, as though so either to still forever its 
throbbing or hush the daring words upon his 
lips. A face, once seen, always to remain upon 
one’s memory. But the man, seeing it, only 
allowed a grim smile to stir his lips, his eyes 
flashing like gleams of fire through the strange 
darkness around them. Then he closed with a 
click the shining e)^e of this silent friend of his, 
and setting it carefully back in its safe 
corner, laid his hand upon the trembling boy’s 
head. 

“Now, Tom,” he said, very distinctly, though 
still in a whisper, and scarcely moving his lips, 
the sound seeming to come in some strange 


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A Terrified Whisper. 


193 


fashion through his set teeth, though still the 
distinct voice was not touched by any excite- 
ment — “ now, Tom, lad, you give over this 
trembling because I happened to speak of the 
old man in those terms. Maybe 1 ain’t special 
in love with him myself, and maybe I am. 
There is something on your mind, Tom, lad, that 
maybe I don’t guess and maybe I do. Tell it 
me — it’s the only way — and I’ll help you out as 
best I can. I’m only a rough chap at best, but I 
mean well. Don’t you go to being afraid of me, 
Tom, lad ! We’re comrades, you and me, Tom. 
Tell it me — do !” 

And then, as though some good angel were 
bending above the homeless, lonely, ill-used boy, 
he started up in the strange darkness and silence 
of the barn and grasped his companion’s hands 
as though so he would keep fast hold of his new 
courage, and with a vehemence startling in one 
so cowed, his wan face quivering— could his 
friend but know — half terror, half daring in his 
wild eyes, he cried beneath his breath : 

“ You’re the only one as has ever been good 
to me sence — sence — he died, Mr. John, an I 11 


194 


Under a Cloud. 


tell you ; but — ” Again that quivering and pal- 
ing and terror and a horrified glance backward 
into the darkness of the barn — once more if only 
the man could have seen ! — “ Lord — Mr. John ! — 
if they had heard me breath it or dreamed that I 
knowed — theyd kill me^ too ! They’d kill me, 
they would !” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

WHO WAS HE ? 

A man sat in the waiting-room of the depot at 
Nyack one Sunday evening. It was rather 
lonely at night in that portion of the town, and 
few people on the street. The safest time of the 
twenty-four hours, if one wished to pass unob- 
served. 

The man was a stranger, too. He came up 
from the city on the 8 : 45 train ; he must wait 
until the 9:15 train to return to the city that 
night. But as he sat alone, waiting the arrival 
of some one whom he expected momently, his 


Who Was He f 


195 


thoughts were so swift that time went by almost 
unnoticed. Already he had waited some half- 
hour or so, but with apparent indifference on 
his part. He wore a heavy spring overcoat, for 
the night was in April, and the collar was turned 
up around his throat, perhaps partly to keep off 
the chill of the night, partly to hide the lower 
part of his face, the only feature of which was 
visible being a glimpse caught now and then as 
he moved uneasily, of a carefully kept black 
beard and mustache. His hat, pulled low over 
his eyes hid them effectually, and that part of 
his face left unhidden by the coat collar. He 
was tall and slow of movement when he pres- 
ently rose and walked to the door, peering up 
and down the platform ; a man used to an easy 
sort of life, one would think, watching him. 

“ Deuce take those fellows !” he muttered, 
impatiently, as he stood looking into the night. 
“If they break their agreement, or if he ' — a 
dark frown upon the heavy black brows, as for 
one instant he lifted the slouching hat, as though 
to ease the excitement — “ if he should have bought 
them over, or worked upon their cowardice 


196 


U^ider a Cloud. 


or credulity — But what’s the use of fretting ? 
They’ll come, doubtless, in good time. Give a 
man his time and he’ll do almost anything.” 

He broke off here, too, for this train of thought 
would end in the old adage of the man certain 
to hang himself if given his own time and length 
enough of rope. It was anything but a pleasant 
thought, and he was not fond of unpleasant 
thoughts or unpleasant occurrences. So he 
shrugged his shoulders, and nestling his throat 
well down in the wide collar of his coat, and 
thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked 
slowly up and down the room, endeavoring to 
keep up an enlivening whistle to chase away 
the blues. 

“ She little thought I was behind her carriage 
when she drove up here that day,” muttered this 
tall man, his black eyes gleaming exultantly. 
“ Perhaps she would not have felt so secure had 
she known of it. She always distrusted me, I 
believe. Even with no cause. If she could 
know what cause she has at present, she might 
be a trifle more unhappy than she is. It’s a 
deuce of a thing, though, knowing that if those 


Who Was He ? 


197 


fellows peach on me — that’s vulgar, but it’s what 
they call it — things ’ll turn out against me instead 
of her ; but so long as there is a chance to hurt 
her I will never go back; I fear it is too late to 
go back ! 

“ And these men,” added the man, the whistle 
fading faintly off and presently dying utterly 
out, “ are such rough fellows, they’d never think 
twice of turning against one if there were more 
money to be made on the other side. They have 
as little conscience as 1, and that is little enough.” 
He laughed softly and low, as though even 
laughter were not safe in that place at that hour. 
“ They would as lief swear a man’s life away for 
a small roll of bills as they would eat a dinner, 
and I fancy they are never over-fed. I would 
give considerable if they would make their 
appearance, however — But the heavens be 
praised, they are coming.” 

Two men, these newcomers. Both were 
slouching in gait and dressed roughly. They 
were evidently used to rough life and rough 
living, as the man said. They slouched up to 
this other man, who stood apart from them 


Under a Cloud. 


198 


insensibly by his very attitude of hauteur^ him- 
self unconscious of this, though down in his Soul 
he may have been but their equal. 

“ Well !” this man said, angrily, as he paused, 
confronting them, his black eyes blazing upon 
them beneath his low-set hat. “ You’ve come at 
last, have you ? Perhaps you imagine that I have 
nothing to do but wait in this devilish hole for 
you ! It has put me out enough coming this 
distance to please you, anyway. What do you 
want with me ? Come, out with it, will you !” 

He was either very angry or very well versed 
in assuming, though his voice was low and his 
words indistinct to one beyond the room, unless 
one were listening steadily. The men remained 
stolid. What had they to do with excitement or 
high words when their lives were so monotonous 
and endless ? 

“Couldn’t help it, boss,” one of them then said, 
sullenly. His eyes went stealthily from the 
man’s face, with their keen suspicion, to the well 
polished boots, and from there to sweep the 
room and linger longest in the dark corners or 
out at the windows, as though there might be 


Who Was He ? 


199 


that in the night beyond that would stir even his 
sluggish blood. Then he shifted from one foot 
to the other restlessly, wishing his errand were 
well over and he beyond those brilliant black 
eyes and the mystery around the tall stranger. 

Couldn’t help it, indeed !” retorted the man, 
scornfully, striding from the room, apparently 
regardless whether or no the men followed him. 
But he knew very well that they dared do noth- 
ing else so long as they were under his rule. 
And when at last he halted in the darkness of 
the road under the edge of the buildings farther 
on, they were beside him in their usual dogged 
manner, and the man muttered under his breath, 
still wrathfully ; for the night and darkness and 
loneliness of the place were enough to change 
the disposition of an angel, he added, with a 
swift, backward glance from his flashing eyes 
under the rim of his soft hat. 

Well !” 

He turned upon them again — he was always 
startling them with his moods and swiftness of 
movement. The darkness was so dense that one 
could no more than see one’s hand held out. 


200 


Under a Cloud, 


Only the light of stars and the distant street- 
lamps cast a faint glimmer on the darkened 
streets. It was strange what an unbroken 
shadow seemed to lie beneath those buildings. 

“ Well,” repeated the tall stranger, a low tone 
of threatening in his hushed voice, as he fated 
these two rough men in the shadows. “ You 
sent me word that you have something to say to 
me. I sent to you to meet me here to-night. Here 
we are. Now, what have you to say ? Remember 
what I told you in the first place — I will not be 
fooled with — I will not be so annoyed by any 
man or woman living ! If you have anything to 
say, say it. I am anxious to get away from this 
deadly hole. No wonder you are such slow 
men, living in such places as you do ! You will 
change when once you are away from such sur- 
roundings. And you know that when you have 
done my work satisfactorily, you will have 
money enough to leave that farm and go where 
the ocean will divide this life from the one you 
may choose. Only — ” the men shrank into 
themselves at the fierceness of the smothered 
voice — “ if you dare to fool me, you shall have 


Who Was He ? 


201 


prison bars around you instead of a free life. 
Now you know what to expect, and I am wait- 
ing to hear what you have to sa)^” 

“We ain’t got much to say,” ventured the 
readier of the men slowly. The stranger was 
growing restless, thinking such uncanny thoughts, 
with his rough companions, the sole moving or 
waking creatures so far as they knew anywhere 
in the neighborhood. His right hand was upon 
the railing before the store in whose shadow 
they stood, the fingers clenched upon it as 
though he would be prepared for anything that 
might befall him. His left hand — well, he had 
not the confidence in these men some men might 
have, and his left hand was resting lightly upon 
the revolver in his breast-pocket. The fire in 
the black eyes should have flashed out visibly to 
his companions standing so stolidly before him. 

“ Never mind how little it may be,” he said, 
impatiently, and in his low, distinct voice, evenly 
modulated, though swift of utterance. “ If it be 
but three words, let me hear them, my men, and 
then— good-night and pleasant dreams !” 


202 


Under a Cloud, 


He laughed shortly and harshly. He would 
admit of no trifling from these clowns, not he. 

‘‘We ain’t got much to say, boss,” this spokes- 
man went on, when the reckless laughter was 
silent. “ It may not seem much or anythin’ to 
you, but we made up our minds ’t you oughter 
know, in case there should be some’at in it, so we 
sent for you.” 

“ Yes,” said the man. “ Well ?” 

“ An’ we corned here to-night,” continued the 
man, while his companion muttered some inaudi- 
ble acquiescence, “ to say ’t there come to ther 
farm last winter — ther early part o’ ther winter 
— as we has a’ready told you — a man. He 
wanted work. He come recommended by the 
old man’s lawyer, and stayed. The old man 
daresn’t do naught thet his lawyer hadn’t a mind 
fer him to do, an’ when he said fer him- to take 
this feller, he took him. He had to.” 

“ Well ?” resumed the stranger in that hushed 
excitement of voice, making no movement, but 
ready for whatever should come. “ He took 
him. What then ? I knew all this before.” 

“ This feller,” went on the slow speaker, as 


Who Was He f 


203 


though time were eternity and he was not to be 
hurried, seemed all right at first. He done his 
work— he does his work now just ther same, but 
— he ain’t ther same !” 

He paused as though this startling piece of 
news must prove effective in moving the lis- 
tener ; but it did not. 

‘"Well?” How persistently and steadily he 
repeated this monosyllabic query! Even the 
stolid men before him were ruffled by his per- 
fect self-control. And then ?” 

bh, an’ then!” said the man, with a gruff 
laugh, as though this were in truth a strange 
gentleman to listen to such news. “ An’ then, as 
he ain’t ther same man, he’s either changed 
powerful, or some other, ain’t he ?” 

No reply ; no query this time from the lis- 
tener. 

First thing as made us s’pect him,” the man 
added, in a lower tone, as though even the build- 
ing beside them might wish to listen, was thet 
Jim here waked up one night an’ found ther fel- 
lers gone from ther loft ! He didn’t say nothin’, 
fer he ain’t special give to watchin’ folks, ain’t 


204 


Under a Cloud, 


Jim — but he watched next night an’ ther same 
thing went on— an’ has gone on ever since, night 
after night.” 

“ And you ?” queried the steady voice, 
unmoved. 

An’ then he telled me, did Jim, an’ we made 
up our minds to watch him. We did. He’s 
kept a-watchin’ an’ watchin’ an’ watchin’ et ther 
old man’s winders night after night. He never 
knowed we was watchin’ him /” 

This appeared a good joke, and the man 
laughed. 

“You found?” the gentleman questioned. 

“We found out suthin’ thet maybe you’d like 
to know,” replied the rough speaker, slowly. 
“We heered him an’ ther boy talkin’ in ther hay 
t’other night. What they said sounded as 
though some one oughter know. You was ther 
only one we could come to. You had our word 
’t we ’d give you whatever we found out !” 

“ Yes ?” 

“Well,” very slowly and very softly — as softly 
as his rough voice could be modulated— the 
man spoke, “ ther old man had been purty rough 


Who Was He ? 


205 


on the boy that day. He’d cut him up rayther 
rough. But ther old man’s rough, anyways, 
’ceptin’ with this ’ere other feller. He keeps 
him in with a mighty ticklish hand ! He’s got a 
way o’ makin’ you afeared o’ him an’ his big 
muscles.” 

‘‘ And you fear him, too, 1 presume !” said the 
man, scornfully. 

“ No, stranger,” said the other, slowly still, 
and steadily, “ we ain’t afeared o’ nothin’ but — 
bein’ found out !” 

In the darkness, could human eyes have 
pierced it, the stranger’s color changed to a 
deadly pallor. He did not attempt further ques- 
tioning, but waited for their pleasure. 

“Well, ther boy was a-cuttin’ up’s rough as 
ther old man had been, all by hisself in ther hay, 
an’ this chap he corned up along of him— as 
though he knowed he’d find him there— an’ 
he talked smooth to him, an’ made a sight o’ his 
troubles, an’ purty soon he come to ther very 
thing I hain’t a doubt he’d been aimin’ at ther 
whole time.” The speaker paused for breath. 


2o6 


Under a Cloud, 


but receiving no remark from his listener, he 
presently resumed : 

“ Wot had been a-goin' on in ther old man’s 
kitchen all the time thet he’d watched, we 
couldn’t, o’ course, make out ; but now he telled 
’nough to ther boy for us to guess. An’ when 
he’d a’ most frightened ther life outen ther boy 
by his hints, he come out strong an’ made him 
tell suthin’ as was on his mind ; suthin’ as ’ll make 
your hair stand on end when you hear it, boss. 
Me an’ Jim — Jim don’t go fer sayin’ much, but he 
ken keep up a-thinkin’ — was so scart by what 
ther boy said, thet we jest got outen ther barn 
soft as we could, an’ crept back in ther loft, an’ 
was sleepin’ — oh, my, we was a-sleeping sound — 
when them two come back.” 

What did this boy say ?” asked the tall man, 
steadily. 

The hand upon the railing tightened its hold ; 
the hand upon the revolver was clenched for 
ready use. 

“ He said,” the speaker learned a trifle nearer 
the other, and his breath was so close upon his 
face that the stranger stepped back to avoid him. 


Who Was He ? 


207 


“ He said ’t he seen it done — ’t he were on ther 
very spot hisself, but dassent let ’em know— ’t 
they’d as lief as not kill hinty tooy ef they found 
out thet he seen it all done.'" 

“ Speak out !” muttered the stranger, falling 
back still farther from the man. “ Man, speak 
out ! Tell the rest — there is more to tell ! And 
then — ” 

“We had to be very quiet, me an’ Jim,’’ said 
the man, glancing back instinctively over his 
shoulder, as though that strange, ghostly figure 
might creep through the deep shadows, even in 
those streets of the town, and strike him down 
with its powerful right arm. “ It’d hev done 
no good to ’ve let ’em know ’t we was there, 
an’ there was no tellin’ what this feller ’d hev 
done ef we had. So we scarcely darst to move 
or breathe, an’ kept list’nin’. Ther boy was 
scart a’most outen his life, an' didn’t speak 
more ’n jest above a whisper, an’ if we hadn’t 
a-knowed they was there, we could ’a’ never 
found ’em. 

“ Ther boy went over, ez near ez we could 
catch o’ what he said — word fer word, ther 


2o8 


Under a Cloud, 


whole thing, even thet he didn't dare breathe 
it to a livin’ soul, to save ther prisoner, for 
fear they’d kill him, too ! They hadn’t been 
overmuch kind to him, an’ he was a-feared o’ 
them. Well, it all come out after awhile. 
He’d give this other feller evidence ’nough ter 
clear up ther whole thing, an’ ther feller’s one 
ter do it. Besides which, ther boy went on ter 
say how they old man ’d grinded an’ grinded 
his father down till he died, an’ so got away 
ther farm an’ took him only ’cause he feared he’d 
peach ef he didn’t keep him under his thumb ! 
Oh, he’s a precious fellow— that boy ! But ther 
man, he kept him quiet-like, an’ by an’ by they 
got down outen the hay-loft, an’ we was far 
’nough off when they come out ! But,” here the 
rough voice grew slower still, and it sounded as 
though he were emphasizing each word with 
one hard hand, “ there’s this else to say to you, 
boss. This fellow Ken bring outen ther whole 
thing straight an’ true, unless he’s stopped in 
time! An’ why?” Again this strong, slow 
emphasis. “ Because he’s one o’ them detective 


Who Was He ? 


209 


fellers sent up from the city by — ther prisoner’s 
lawyer.” 

The visitor turned to the men beside him with 
sudden, desperate determination. 

“You are speaking the truth?” he asked, 
sternly. “You and your companions are will- 
ing to swear that what you tell me is true ? 
That this boy and this man hold facts ready 
for the telling, that will prove our useless work, 
and leave us nothing to do but take ourselves off 
the scene as gracefully as is in our power ? If 
you have fooled me, men — ” he was in a tower- 
ing rage, and the men shrank from him, feeling 
the desperation upon him at this unfortunate 
moment of his life, when perhaps for the first 
time his strongest effort failed — “ if you have 
dared trifle with me — ” 

“ It’s ther truth, boss,” said the man, who car- 
ried on the conversation up to that time. “ It’s 
the gospel truth. Me an’ Jim can swear ’t it’s 
the truth.” 

“ Then,” the tall stranger conquered his pas- 
sion by a powerful will, and, still grasping the 
railing, stood up erect before them, his figure 


210 


Under a Cloud, 


faintly descried in the thick shadow, save where 
a faint glimmer of distant lamps flickered across 
the darkness, then there is but one thing to be 
done — we must get this fellow out of our way 
and keep him away until such time as we think 
best for him to return. I will dare anything — 
anything now, if you stand true to me. I have 
gone too far to go back, even though such 
weakness would tempt me to do so.” 

“Yes, I think you have — gone quite too far, 
my fine gentleman !” murmured the “ new man,” 
standing silently for a moment in the deepest 
shadow just at the right of the railing, listening 
to the retreating footsteps of the conspirators as 
they passed down the street in the direction of 
the station, the two spies leaving the tall man at 
one of the cross-streets, to re-enter the station 
and wait the coming of the down-train, alone. 

“A mighty sight too far, my friend, and it 
appears to me that you will bear watching!” 

And he, too, with marvelous patience, waited 
on the side-platform at the station for the train 
that should carry from the quiet town two pas- 
sengers instead of but one. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

AT A DEATH-BED. 

A telegram for Mr. Whitney ! Miss Belaire 
glanced up from her machine as calmly as 
though she were in the habit of taking innum- 
erable telegrams for him. Mr. Whitney was 
out of town, but she knew his address and could 
send for him immediately if it were necessary. 
She took the message from the boy and signed 
for it ; then, as he walked away, she tore it open 
in her quiet, inexcitable way, and glanced over 
its contents. Had the eyes of the world been 
upon her, instead of merely the brigTit eyes of 
the office-boy, she would have been just 
as calm. Nevertheless, the message was a start- 
ling one. 

“Come to this station at once. Utmost 
importance. Bring witnesses. He is dying.” 


212 


Voider a Cloud, 


And it was signed simply, ‘‘John King;” the 
station, Nyack. 

But Miss Kittie Belaire was equal to most 
demands upon her strength of mind and heart. 
She called the boy to her and told him she would 
have to leave for the day ; that she was called 
away upon business. If further messages should 
come for Mr. Whitney they were to be sent 
immediately to her home until either he or she 
returned. If the boy was considerably amazed 
by this state of affairs, it was not his business to 
say so, and she might have been speaking upon 
the most ordinary matter for all the interest he 
showed. Then Miss Kittie very quietly closed 
her machine and locked up the dictation-book, 
and, donning her hat and wraps and gloves, 
went away with her accustomed pleasant word 
of farewell to the clerks. She never forgot 
others, even at such a time as the present. 

Her mind was pretty busy as she waited for 
the elevator in the hall, for the message 
demanded not a moment’s delay. Whom should 
she go to for witnesses ? She herself would go 
up to Nyack, of course, but she must have wit- 


At a Death-Beds 


213 


nesses. Then she remembered John Ring’s 
associates, and hurried to the detective bureau as 
fast as possible. On the way she telegraphed to 
Frank Whitney what had occurred, and sent 
another message to her mother. Everything 
was very business-like under Miss Kittie’s hands. 

At what hours trains left tor Nyack she did 
not know, but she went straight from the 
detective office to the Erie depot at Jersey City, 
in company with two well-dressed men who were 
ordered to attend her. She carried money 
enough with her for any ordinary demand, and 
need not delay further than absolute necessity 
called for. She was under intense excitement, 
but would not betray it. Perhaps she was paler 
than usual, but the men accompanying her did 
not know her usual color and could not judge. 
They wondered considerably over the demure 
little woman beside them. 

The trip was not long, but it seemed so to the 
girl. She hoped that Mr. Whitney would 
receive the telegram, and hasten to join them. 
Of the latter she did not doubt if he received the 
telegram. She was well enough acquainted 


214 


Undei'’ a Cloud. 


with the duty and importance ot John King to 
know that there was not a moment to be lost in 
complying with his demand. There was a boy 
upon the station platform, evidently on the look- 
out for them, and one of her companions — they 
were shrewd men and understood pretty well 
what was required of them — inquired of him how 
they could reach old Hardman’s house at 
Nanuet. 

The boy was pale and thin, but he was not 
stupid. He had been sent to this station to wait 
for them; from John King’s description he 
recognized Miss Kittie. His pale face flushed 
with the strangeness of his position, and his 
voice was low and unsteady as he replied to the 
query, and asked if they were come in reply to 
Mr. King’s message. 

“Yes, it’s all right,” said the man carelessly, 
but not roughly. “ Will you take us there in 
the quickest time ever you made, youngster ?” 

“ I corned for you,” the boy said, quickly. 
“ He sent me.” 

After that none of them spoke a word. They 
hurried into the carriage in waiting, and ordered 


At a Death-Bed, 


215 


the driver to spare no horse-flesh, to get them in 
time to the break in the woods upon the Nyack 
turnpike, whence they could reach old Hard- 
man’s house the better without observation. 

“ He told me to take you the way nobody ’d 
see you much,” explained the boy, in a frightened 
voice, as they left the carriage on the road, and 
followed their guide into the woods, regardless 
of underbrush or brier. ‘‘An’ I’ll tell him 
you’ve come, if you’ll wait a minnet in the hall, 
when we get there.” 

“ Go it !” ordered one of the men, perempto- 
rily. “ Make haste, youngster ! It’ll be best 
ior you if you mind!” 

John King did not come down to meet them. 
He knew much better than to leave the bedside 
of the old man, who was in truth — such is the 
uselessness after all of grasping the glass of 
Time when once the drops are low — upon his 
death-bed. He sent Tom down again, and there 
was no necessity for him to urge the boy to 
make haste; he was bound to him too utterly 
by ties of kindness and fear to make him loiter. 
The}^ were taken to the bare room above the 


2i6 


Under a Cloud. 


kitchen where the old miser lay ; the niece, 
finding to her surprise that it was useless for her 
to object to this hired man doing as he would, 
when — still by some strange tie of life or fate — 
the dying man would keep him beside him, nor 
let him from his sight for a moment. To send 
the message to the lawyer, he was obliged to 
trust to Tom, ordering him to take one of the 
farm horses and go at his best speed. 

Very remarkable it was, this woman said to 
herself, as she saw the strange visitors to her 
uncle’s death-chamber, that this hired man 
dared invite his friends at such a time. Her 
shrewd eyes recognized without trouble that 
they were none of the country people; no one 
she ever saw ; no one she could care to see. 
And here her eyes grew narrow and contracted 
in their great shrewdness, and a strange smile 
stirred her thin lips. 

She moved away from the bedside to make 
room for the new-comers, not daring to ask the 
why or the wherefore for this intrusion, for she 
was learning remarkable caution since the new 
man came upon the farm ; John King’s keen 


At a Death-Bed. 


217 


eyes were upon her, and she moved but a few 
steps, and there waited. 

Why she should so obey the mere glance of 
this man’s eyes, she did not know ; she did not 
even ask herself. She knew it was his wish that 
she remain where she was, and she remained. 
By and by she stole very softly from the room, 
unnoticed in the horrible scene enacted there ; 
and even the hired man’s sharp eyes could not 
hold her, not being upon her in the deadly trial 
of mind and justice. 

She was very shrewd — oh, truly, she was 
wonderfully shrewd — was this woman ! 

The room was dark and close when they 
entered ; but upon their arrival, as though he 
dared not stir from the bedside, lest he should 
lose some wish (?) or some need of the dying 
man, John King crossed the bare, creaking 
boards, and opened the one tiny window to 
admit the air. It was a chilly day, and the wind 
searched the chamber through, as though to 
purify it, if possible, for the Great Guest soon to 
enter. 

A bare, desolate, hard room in which a man 


2i8 


Under a Cloud. 


must die. A rough, scant, scrimped room in 
which to meet such a guest. But the sunlight 
would creep in through the small panes, and, 
strangely enough crept up and up and up to the 
foot of the bed, to the side, up even to the hands 
— ghastly hands, and convulsively clasped to the 
face of the dying man. 

Miss Kittie Belaire was a self-controlled 
woman, but she shivered and shrank away when 
her bright eyes fell first upon this livid face. 
John King saw this, and shopk his head at her 
warningly. He was still, in appearance, but the 
rough hired man of the farm, but his manners 
had changed since their arrival. 

“ It’s all right, miss,” he said, quietly, standing 
very near the bed. “ It’s the way we’ve all got 
to go. But it’d, perhaps, be as well for us all to 
pray that death may not come to us as it’s com- 
ing to him, nor ” — a keen expression over his 
entire face — “ the same conscience haunt us when 
we lie dying.” 

“Mr. Whitney’s coming,” said one of the 
other men, in a low tone. 

He glanced through the window, and recog- 


At a Death-Bed, 


219 


nized the lawyer, as he hurried from a saddle- 
horse at the gate — a horse trembling and covered 
with foam from the haste of his ride. There was 
some delay in obtaining an entrance, and the 
hired man was about to go down himself or send 
Tom, when the door opened and admitted the 
new-comer. He was flushed with haste, but 
when he saw the group around the bed, he 
regained his perfect self-control, and joined them 
as quietly as though it were but an every-day 
affair, this slow approach of a terrible guest, the 
tall figure stealing across the snow of the woods, 
and lifting its powerful arm to strike down the 
shivering, shriveled old man, with his distorted 
face upon the hard pillow. 

“ You have done well,'’ he said to Miss Belaire, 
as he joined them. His eyes told her the rest. 
He trusted her fully — there was no doubt of 
that. “ I came on at once. Am I in time ?” 

King nodded. The other men made place for 
him respectfully, for the young lawyer was an 
authority not to deny. Then their attention was 
concentrated upon the dying man. 

“ He muttered some things I thought it well 


220 


Under a Cloud, 


for others to hear besides myself,” said the hired 
man. “ I rather think you will be pleased to hear 
what he has to say, Mr. Whitney. I shall ques- 
tion him a little more now that you have come. 
Be good enough to keep your attention upon his 
words. Had he died two weeks ago I would 
have little real fact to go upon. I have all that 
is needed — more than is necessary now. You 
are to remain to make strong any little last word 
he may wish to say.” 

Mr. Whitney nodded. It was advisable not 
to prolong unnecessary conversation with the 
dread Angel of Death hovering at the doorway 
ready to enter when the one poor last drop of 
life’s red blood should fall from the mighty 
glass those convulsive fingers clutched with 
such fierceness. Then John King bent over the 
struggling face upon the pillow, and said, very 
distinctly and slowly, his eyes upon those 
sunken, wavering eyes that had been very 
shrewd to cheat his fellowmen, but were of no 
use in cheating the Guest waiting at the door : 

“ A horrible place — in that wood where the 
murder was committed, isn’t it, Hardman?” 


At a Death-Bed. 


22 1 


The effect of his words was startling even 
beyond his own expectation. The shriveled face 
started from the pillow, and those wild, fading 
eyes stared from their sockets in terror. 

“ A horrible place — ay, ay, a horrible place ! 
An’ ther figger — there — see it ? — a-comin’, al’ays 
a-comin’ ter strike me down as 1 — as I’d ’a’ shot 
him on’y fer his face an’ his voice ! An’ when I 
couldn’t fer ther life o’ me do it, an’ she — she, 
Jane, my niece, come an’ took ther gun from me 
— an’ shot him — shot him herself, an’ he fell 
there — there at ther thicket! ’Tain’t ’nough 
thet he keeps on callin’ ter whoever’s there ter 
join him ’cause o’ the lonesomeness — but — he 
comes here with his — white face — a-sayin’ thet he 
knows things — heW set me behind sech bars!” 
went on the wild voice almost inaudibly, “ how 
could we let him — live ?” 

No other sound stirred the room for a 
moment. Miss Belaire was pallid a-s death her- 
self, but she shook her head when Mr. Whitney 
offered to take her down-stairs. Then they 
gave their attention again to this horrible con- 
fession given from dying lips. 


222 


Under a Clond. 


“ An’ ther boy !” muttered the stiff lips pres- 
ently, the wild eyes trying to search the room, 
the pallid face once more upon the pillow. 
“ An’ ther boy ! He was al’ays a-snivelin’ an’ 
a-cryin’ o’ my treatment as though I hain’t — a — 
right to do as — I will with — my help — But, 
good Lord !” again screamed the old man, start- 
ing up, struggling with the strong man who 
would hold him back upon the bed, fighting 
with a mad frenzy that made him the equal 
almost of this big, powerful man. “ Good 
Lord ! Hear him a-callin’ — hear him a-callin’ so 
pleasant like thet he was lonely an’ fer us ter 
come along — o’ him — an’ walk together—” 

He sank back under the strong hands upon 
him, and his voice died out in a gasping and 
gurgling struggling for the breath that was so 
swiftly fleeting away. The starting eyes were 
dimming, they could not recognize even the 
bare rafters of the old familiar room ; the bony 
fingers were untwisted, and clutched, instead, the 
ragged covers about him. 

“ And what of the man who was charged with 
the murder? What of him, I say?” demanded 


At a Death-Bed. 


223 


John King, stooping over this horrible, distorted 
face, and still speaking as slowly and distinctly 
as though to a child — but not a child surrounded 
with love or all good things — far from that ! 
^‘You would have let them hang him for your 
deed, had the law allowed that! What of him, 
I ask you, Hardman — tell me that !” 

The semblance of that old, shrewd, cunning 
expression crept upon the livid face, and the 
eyes, almost beyond seeing again the light that 
streamed so radiantly into the bare room, were 
raised to the bending face, that made but a blur 
upon the blank of coming darkness, as the shrill 
voice, faint and broken with this hideous strug- 
gle to still hold that mighty glass in his shriv- 
eled, bony fingers, muttered and mumbled 
inaudibly some reply, as though for the moment 
even consciousness of his own shrewdness had 
gone from him. Then, very swiftly, and without 
warning, the long, wild hands pushed aside those 
other detaining hands, as he struggled up in the 
hard, ragged bed,, the ghastly face convulsed, 
and every last hint of blood in the horrible body 
sent into it by this one mad effort to speak. 


224 


Under a Cloud, 


Even the big, wrathful, stern man of justice 
shrank from him for the moment, as he cried 
shrilly : 

“ What o’ him ? What o’ him? Ah! but it’s 
let him — die — let him die — let him die^ says old — 
Hardman ! What — is it — to me who dies — if — 
I go — free ! Ah ! Ah ! Good Lord !” once 
more broke off the faint voice in abject terror, 
the horrible form falling back upon the bed, its 
bony hands outspread vaguely to keep off the 
terrible Guest who had pushed ajar the door, 
and must enter in spite of resistance. “ Lord ! 
Lord ! There he — is I Him — him — an’ ther 
smile upon his face — ther smile upon his face — 
an' his eyes — Lord ! Lord ! Save me !” 

Perhaps it was the first time in all his long life 
that such a cry crossed his lips, or those long, 
grasping hands lifted towards the heavens for 
mercy. But, in truth, there was need, if ever 
there would cross those thin, purple lips any cry 
for pardon, for the mighty Guest bent above the 
ghastly face, and laid its death-cold hand upon 
that convulsed face and shut out forever the 
beautiful sunlight, that would creep up over the 










•. V- ■■' ■"<’' 

t- 

' -S' . / _? 


I COMED FOR YOU,” THE BOY SAID, QUICKLY.— >SVe J^age 214 . 





Gone, 


225 


bare boards, over the bed’s foot, up and up, 
across the ghastly hands, even resting in pity 
upon the distorted face. 

And, murderer though she knew him to be in 
intention, if not in act — the wisher of her friend’s 
death, the cause of Roy Hilton’s clouded life — 
yet Kittie Belaire covered her sweet eyes with 
trembling hands and let the pitying tears come, 
while — who knows? — a silent prayer went up 
with this blood-stained soul to the merciful 
throne where there is no evading the justice that 
reigns supreme. 


. CHAPTER XXIV. 

GONE. 

And in spite of the'bitter anger in his heart 
against this man for the willful wrong done Roy 
Hilton, Frank Whitney turned from the bedside 
to the woman shrinking from such a sight, and 
whatever of anger was in his heart died out 
looking in her pale, beautiful, merciful face, as^he 


226 


Under a Cloud, 


held out his hands and led her from the room 
very kindly, very gravely, as though it were not 
meet for other words to be uttered after that 
wild cry for mercy from dying lips. 

His hand was strong but gentle holding hers 
within it, and the brave, strong-hearted Kittie 
Belaire knew that this was a friend whom she 
could safely trust as she went with him down 
the steep, bare, creaking stairs to the still barer 
kitchen, over whose stove above crouched and 
shivered so many and many a time during the 
past winter — the last winter of his life ! She 
smiled up at him through her tears and drew 
her hand from his very softly but steadily. 

“ I am quite myself now, Mr. Whitney,” she 
said, in the soft, low, musical voice it was good 
for any one to hear. “ I was so startled and — 
so sorry — ” 

If in truth she were herself — calm, self-con- 
trolled Kittie Belaire — why should these soft 
words tremble and break and stop short upon 
the quivering red mouth? At any rate the 
handsome lawyer considered it necessary to 
retain the small, soft hand in his as he placed a 


Gone, 


227 


chair for her near the stove — where but a faint 
trace of heat remained. The woman was not 
there. 

“You are exhausted,” he said, calmly, and 
with an authority rather pleasant than other- 
wise, glancing about the bare room. “You 
have followed out my wishes so well. Miss 
Kittie, that you have overtaxed yourself. But, 
thank Heaven, we were in time, and this deadly 
wrong may at last be righted — this terrible 
wrong that placed such a dark cloud upon as 
brave and true and noble a heart as was ever 
upon God’s earth !” 

“ And his wife !” said Kittie softly, with a 
grave glance up into the handsome face above 
her. “ It will be so good — so good for Helen 
to know I” 

“You shall be the one to break the news to 
her. Miss Kittie,” said Mr. Whitney, smiling, 
though there was upon both their faces the 
trace of an emotion not to be easily erased after 
that scene in the room overhead. 

“ But this woman ?” she asked, .presently, the 
deadened sound of footsteps in the room above 


228 


Under a Cloud, 


rather disheartening — remembering what had 
been there and was not now. 

“Yes — the woman!” said Frank Whitney, 
with a start. “ He implicated her to such an 
extent — laying the height of the crime upon 
her — that we must not let her escape. She 
came from the room some time ago. She must 
be somewhere hereabouts — ” 

But nowhere could they find her, though they 
searched the house through. From one loom 
to another — each as bare and dreary as the 
others — but only the harsh vacancy of the 
rooms answered their low calling. 

“ And now we’ve settled himC said the hired 
man, John King, as he entered the kitchen some 
few minutes later, with his brother detectives 
and the boy. “ Now that we’ve settled him, Mr. 
Whitney, we will attend to this charming 
woman who is the only one left upon whom to 
set the dogs of the law. And a mighty ticklish 
scent it’s been, let me tell you — this, with this 
sharp old man and the still sharper woman, 
both willing to sell their last shred of soul for 
money. A mighty ticklish thing it’s been ! 


Gone. 


229 


And if it hadn’t been for Tom, here — Tom, 
where are you, my lad — perhaps we’d have 
never made such a clear case as we have. But 
it’s for the woman to bear it now, and it’s her 
I’m after! Where is she, Mr. Whitney? Tom 
— you boys — Miss Belaire — gone? Lord! You 
don’t say it? Phew!” The disconcerted man 
fell back a couple of steps, and his face was a 
mirror of blankness for a moment. Then he 
straightened himself, leaving the house almost 
before the others comprehended his intention. 

“ Yes, I’m going,” he said, sententiously. “ I 
don’t give her up so easy as this ! She’s a she- 
devil if ever there was one, and she’ll have to 
meet her fate ! I wouldn’t have let her go,” he 
paused for a moment in the doorway to address 
his companions ; I wouldn’t have had her go 
for all the money the old miser has been hiding 
with his sharp claws for these dozen years or so. 
No! I’d have let him go cheerfully in prefer- 
ence to her, if it’d had to be either way ! And 
I’ll run her down, sharp as she is !” 

“Wait!” said Frank Whitney rising hurriedly, 
and detaining him by a hand upon his shoulder, 


230 


Under a Cloud, 


ere he vanished from the doorway. ** Wait one 
moment, Cunningham ! Who is the man who 
backed up these two villains you discovered 
working their plan against Mr. Hilton, and 
where are they ? We must know that before 
you go !” 

For an instant — and only for an instant — the 
man’s face changed to one of fierce anger. Then 
he shrugged his shoulders, and in doing so, 
shook off the lawyer’s detaining hand, and 
stepped from the doorway to the board beneath. 
His eyes went from one to another among them, 
and then lighted upon the boy. A slow, keen, 
remarkable smile stirred his lips, as he answered 
distinctly and slowly — as he spoke to the dying 
man : I’ve no time to tell you — now. It’s a 

long story. The lad there’ll give you his name — 
maybe, if you ask ! Eh, Tom, lad?” And with 
a chuckle of exultation he was gone into the 
wood, none of them quite knowing which direc- 
tion he chose in his track of the woman who 
proved herself even more shrewd than he had 
believed her, and made good use of the half- 
hour’s start. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

SUSPICION. 

The house was terrible after the scene jusL 
enacted, and Frank Whitney, knowing that Miss 
Kittie Belaire was very unhappy during every 
moment of their stay, decided that he would go 
with her to the city, leaving the detectives in 
possession of the house, the body, and the two 
men whom John King, or Cunningham as he 
called him, had secured in the barn, as soon as 
he knew the old miser was dying. 

Since that night when they met by agreement 
with the tall stranger at the Nyack depot, the 
new man — for he went by that name since he 
entered upon the life on the farm — bided his 
time for making sure of these men, also on the 
watch for some treachery toward himself, know- 




232 


U7ider a Cloud. 


ing that they understood his calling, and the 
cause of his coming for work to their master. 

It was a pretty rough struggle for him to 
catch the two, for they were burly men, and more 
than equal to him in weight and muscles, but 
what he may have lacked in this he balanced by 
brain power ; and feeling that the decisive 
moment was come, he called the boy to his assist- 
ance, and facing them as they were at work in 
the barn, ordered them to yield at the muzzle of 
his revolver. For John King was a wary man, 
and knew the value of such weapons. 

He could never have taken them, however, 
without such aid, for they were desperate, 
knowing that their scheme for spoiling a man’s 
character and earning gold through his enemy 
was discovered ; but looking into the cold muz- 
zle of the revolver, and being heartily assured 
that the first of them who stirred or attempted 
to escape should have the contents of one of the 
chambers into him, they could do no more than 
scowl darkly upon him and allow the boy to 
tie their hands and feet, this being the only 


Suspicion. 


233 


manner in which the detective could secure them 
at that time. 

“ There is no need for us to remain here 
longer, and I think you should return home, 
Miss Belaire,” said Mr. Whitney, with his 
accustomed thoughtfulness for her comfort. 
“ You men can hold this place until Cunning- 
ham returns, or until the proper authorities are 
notified of the man’s death, and officers brought 
to arrest the men complicated in this affair. 
The boy here — Tom, I think? — will go to the 
village and report his master’s death, and 1 will 
give him an order for police to come for these 
men. It is useless for us to remain. When 
Cunningham returns, whether successful or not, 
and I scarcely dare hope that he will be, send 
me on a dispatch at once. As to the man here, 
one of the murderers — ” 

The memory of that terrible death-scene 
where the old man, in his terror and delirium of 
death, betrayed his murderous deed and that of 
his niece, brought the swift pallor to Miss 
Kittie’s cheeks; and her friend, always thought- 
ful, refrained from further mention of him. 


234 


Under a Cloiid. 


And after preparing the police order for the 
boy, and speaking a few kindly words, his face 
very winning in its brave thought, he and Miss 
Belaire left the room and the house, leaving the 
saddle-horse for one of the other men, and 
entering the carriage, were driven back to 
Nyack, preferring that route to going to the 
depot at Nanuet, where he would probably be 
recognized. 

It was horrible! Horrible!” said Kittie ; 
and Mr. Whitney considered it necessary that 
his hand should be upon hers, as they rolled 
back along the dreary road beside the wood in 
whose depths a noble life was ended. If it 
were not that this must absolutely clear Mr. 
Hilton from the least hint of crime, I could find 
it in my heart to wish we had not come. See 
how selfish I am, Mr. Whitney.” 

She looked quite incapable of such a trait of 
character, and so, perhaps, thought Mr. Whit- 
ney, though he said nothing in reply, his 
smile down into her earnest, half-smiling, 
half-fearful eyes proving much more than his 
words. 


Suspicion 


23s 


“And to think,” she added, presently, still 
more earnestly, a shadow falling across her 
face, “ that the man who would have and has 
done his best against Helen and her husband, 
is — ” 

“ And you have not mistrusted him before ?” 
queried the lawyer, gravely, searching her 
face. “ Even when we talked about him 
in the office one day, and you denied that he 
was your friend, you still held no suspicion 
of what he was doing to harm Roy Hilton and 
his wife ?” 

She shook her head. 

“ I have never liked him,” she replied slowly. 

I could never have trusted him ; but that he 
would descend to such plotting and such associ- 
ates — he, the handsome, wealthy — ” 

“ Because a man is handsome and wealthy, is it 
impossible that he should do wrong ?” asked her 
companion, with a quizzical flash in his eyes. 
“ Money gives power. Miss Kittie, and an accom- 
plished villain can do more harm through being 
able to work his plans with precision and skill, 
than a man who has neither money nor educa- 


236 


Under a Cloud, 


tion. I would prefer dealing with the two of 
these rough men than with him alone/’ 

Of course you know,” said Miss Belaire 
positively; ^‘you have enough experience, Mr., 
Whitney ; but I could wish — if it were not for 
Mr. Hilton and his wife — that we had not come 
here. There is something so terrible about a 
man like — like this Hardman, to die with this — 
upon his soul — ” 

“ You must forget it at once,” said Mr. 
Whitney, with great authority. “ It would 
have been better for you to have remained away 
from that room. Miss Kittie. But, of course, 
Cunningham and the other men did not think. 
They wished as many witnesses as they could 
obtain, and they did not stop to think of the 
effect of such a scene upon a sensitive mind and 
a generous heart.” 

And shall you tell Mr. Hilton at once what 
we have discovered?” asked Miss Belaire, by 
and by, as they paced the station platform, wait- 
ing for the train. It is such good news for 
him ! How he must have suffered, and how she 
has suffered ! I do not see how her people could 


Stispicion. 


237 


keep them apart even with this cloud upon his 
name. They might have trusted him enough to 
be certain he could not have murdered any one, 
especially a man he called his friend and hers !” 

For a moment Frank Whitney was silent, and 
then he said very slowly and gravely, as though 
it were some difficult task he would perform : 

“ Miss Belaire, there are those outside of her 
family who have suspected Hilton — suspected' 
him even against their will or the judgment of 
their hearts. During that illness of his — yes, 
even during his confinement before the trial — 
he uttered such strange words that even I — /, 
who should have been his warmest and truest 
friend — was forced at times to believe that in 
some moment of great passion he did take 
George Chesney’s life. You know as well as I 
how jealousy has lived in his family always. 
You know how difficult it was for him to be 
certain that Mr. Chesney once loved his wife. 
You doubtless think me unkind and unjust; but, 
even so, I must acknowledge my weakness. He 
said once — and though that was during delirium, 
there was enough of truth in the possibility to 


238 


Under a Cloud. 


force me against mj will to hold that there was 
some truth in the words — that he would hold as 
nothing any man’s life who breathed insult 
against Helen. I tell you this to show you 
what a struggle I have had to remain true to my 
friendship. Even his wife had been forced at 
times — I could see it in her eyes, and her face, 
though she would have died rather than give 
utterance to the fact — to believe that he did 
commit that murder. It is through her strong 
desire to search every line and link in this chain 
that so strangely bound her husband, that we 
decided upon sending Cunningham to the farm 
to watch this man. There was something in his 
face and the face of his niece, when the trial was 
on, and the knowledge then given that Chesney 
was against him that first led us to suspect him. 
Chesney, as a partner in this law firm, knew, 
perhaps, more than he should of this man’s 
dealings. There remained to be cleared the 
outcome of their quarrel, and the footprints fol- 
lowing George, and we would not yield when 
often discouragements came.” 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

IN PURSUIT. 

John King, the detective, starting solely upon 
his knowledge of the woman he would overtake, 
struck upon the path that led through the woods 
and came out some half a mile from the station, 
in the busier portion of Nanuet. He had little 
proof to go upon as to her course, as the ground 
was hard, and her footprints could not be traced 
over the rough cart track and so through the 
wood ; whereas, had she taken the public road, 
she could be easily traced. 

He believed that she would make her way 
immediately to Nyack, where her uncle’s lawyer 
was, and securing from him such an amount of 
mon‘ey as she would need for present expenses, 
make her way to the city, and so either out of the 


240 


Under a Cloud. 


country altogether or into the far West, where 
it would be hard to follow. She was a shrewd 
woman and could think as rapidly as this hurried 
departure would necessitate. Were she only a 
trifle less sharp, a trifle less quick for emergen- 
cies, he would be more certain of overtaking 
and securing her. But he had no thought of 
yielding up the chase. 

That she must pass the scene of the murder — 
yes, even come out on the very thicket where 
the dead man lay, he knew would not hinder 
her. 

He cursed himself often enough, while hurry- 
ing on in this rough path, for his stupidity in not 
placing a watch over her ; but it was apparently 
of no use, save to intensify his anger at himself 
and his determination to capture her if there 
were any means or any manner so to do. She 
was the worst of the two, he said to himself ; 
she spurred the old man on to contemplate the 
deed, and it was her hand that at last ended the 
young man’s life ; she was a devil, not a woman ! 

“ She’s gone slow, I think,” he said, presently, 
pausing to listen for any sound that might lead 


In Pursuit. 


24 


him in the right direction. “ She’s gone slow or 
taken some other route, or there’d be some 
token of her having passed through here. 
She’d never get clear of these infernal briers 
otherwise. But if she has not come this way, in 
what direction has she gone ? Never down the 
public road ; of that 1 am positive. She would 
cut off her own head rather than be caught 
before the eyes of her neighbors. It’s this way 
she came, I am certain. Hello !” 

He stooped suddenly and carefully examined 
some marks at his feet, in the softer portion of 
the path, then he straightened up triumphantly 
and squared his shoulders, as he added slowly 
and distinctly : 

“ It’s this way without a doubt, and if you 
don’t catch up with her before night, Jack King, 
you’re not the fellow I’ve always taken you for. 
She don’t get free of Nyack — if that’s where 
she’s bound for— ere I have her. Oh, we’ll 
meet again. Miss Jane, and I think you will go 
where I can find you if I should pine for a 
glimpse of your face !” 

Lightened by the certainty that he was on the 


242 


Under a Cloud, 


right track, even though the woman was beyond 
doubt a good half-hour ahead of him, he plunged 
on into the bushes, regardless of torn clothing 
or torn hands and feet. That it was likely to be 
a difficult thing to come up with her he knew 
quite well ; but with the determination to over- 
take her the man plunged along, stumbling, now 
catching his balance by a miracle of gymnastic 
exercise, now light-hearted at the certainty that 
he was upon her track, now plunged into 
despondency for fear she should catch some 
train ere he came up with her. 

But, despite these hopes and fears, he crossed 
to the thicket where George Chesney had stood, 
calling upon some companionship, in the flush 
of his manhood, and striking into the depths of 
the wood on the other side, hurried on, deter- 
mined to overtake her, if he should be forced to 
walk every step in his pursuit. 

When he emerged into Nanuet, he saw with 
his keen eyes that everything was as uncon- 
cerned and as quiet as before murder crept into 
its peace. 

Jane Hardman might have gone that way and 


In Pursuit, 


243 


not been observed, he said to himself, but he 
would inquire, in a casual way, lest some friends 
of hers — if she could possess such — might warn 
her of his following. It was a long time ere he 
could find any one who saw her pass. Each and 
all were too occupied with their own affairs to 
note even that strange woman passing through 
the village. She seldom went from home, and 
it should be remarked when she did so. But 
these people cared too little for such a woman 
as her to note whether she were at home or 
abroad. Had they known upon what errand 
the hired man was bent, they might have roused 
fr^m their calmness and helped him in the pur- 
suit. 

When he came to the platform at the station 
there was no one there but the station-master and 
a few idle loungers. He swept the platform and 
the waiting-room and every inch of space within 
sight with those keen eyes of his, and not^a sight 
of the woman could he get. He glanced in at 
the big clock upon the blank white wall of the 
waiting-room, and started angrily back with a 
muttered exclamation. 


244 


Under a Cloud. 


He knew perfectly the arrival and departure 
of trains at this village, that he might be ready 
should there be need for him to know train time, 
and as he glanced at this big, stupid, white-faced 
clock ticking stolidly away upon the as stupid 
blank white wall, he could have knocked it down 
in his disgust and disappointment. For the 
train that he hoped to catch passed through some 
ten minutes before, and there would be no other 
for Nyack in four long hours. What should he 
do ? Return to the house and give up the 
search, and declare it was impossible to follow 
the woman until these four hours were up ? 

No. That would not be Jack King. He set 
his lips very determinedly and somewhat des- 
perately over those short white teeth of his ; 
he shrugged his shoulders with apparent uncon- 
cern, and sauntering up to one of the men leaning 
against the window of the ticket-office, inquired 
of the station-master, a good-natured man, if he 
had seen old Hardman’s niece go on the train 
just out. They wanted her up at the house, and 
as they could not find her there, and they knew 
she had thoughts of going on to Nyack, he had 


In Pursuit, 


245 


come to catch her before she should go. But the 
train was gone, of course? Yes? He feared 
that. And the woman had gone upon it? 

One or two of the idlers sauntered up to learn 
what old Hardman’s new man eould wish at the 
station, for he was little likely to have use for 
train time upon that straitened farm. They were 
a rough set ; but there was good in them, too, if 
one could but get upon the right side of them. 
He learned this during his winter’s stay in the 
village. 

They liked him. He was pleasant-spoken, and 
could tell a good story with as lively a sense of 
humor as any man, and he could treat when he 
had the mind, for not a man there but was willing 
to take a glass ” at any time, if it happened to 
be at any other man’s expense. So they liked 
him, and crowded about him to learn his errand, 
one of them catching his quesLion, and rather 
curious to know what he could have to do with 
old Hardman’s niece, and what old Hardman’s 
niece could have to do with going off on the 
train. 

He joked with them for a moment or so, know- 


246 


Under a Cloud. 


ing that so he could best win their good temper, 
and although he was intensely eager to be upon 
his way, he could, perhaps, afford to spare a 
moment in learning without doubt if the woman 
had gone. He took out a stick of tobacco which 
he carried for this purpose, for he never used it 
himself, and passed it around among them. 
Then, as carelessly as possible, as though it 
mattered not at all to him, he renewed his query 
regarding the woman. Did she go on the train ? 
And was there no other under four hours for 
Nyack ? They would not like it at the farm if he 
went back and reported that he could not detain 
her. 

The station-master shifted one foot over the 
other and leaned his chin upon his hand in a 
thoughtful and very grave fashion. He eyed 
him for a moment with utter unconcern, and 
then, as he slowly and deliberately expectorated, 
and pulled his slouched hat lower over his face, 
he replied, slowly^ that the woman had gone on 
that train — 

“With two men,” he added. 

In spite of his self-control, John King started. 


On the Track, 


247 


but covered his agitation with a shrug and a 
laugh. 

“ Eloped, eh ?” he asked recklessly, to please 
their fancy ; but as they laughed in their rough 
fashion over this joke of his, he muttered under 
his breath, with an added curse upon his care- 
lessness : 

Gone, by Jove ! And taken those two men 
with her !" 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

ON THE TRACK. 

John King was a determined man. Perhaps 
he swore an oath or two over his own blindness 
and stupidity, in not having so placed watch 
over the woman as to prevent such an awkward 
occurrence, but John King was not the man to 
acknowledge to another his mistakes. It was 
his fashion to retrieve himself if he could ; if not 
— but usually he could. He determined now 
the course he should follow in pursuing the 


248 


Under a Cloud, 


woman and her companions. He would get to 
the town as fast as the fastest horses could take 
him ; and he decided, too, with that close-shut- 
ting of his lips over his white teeth, that this 
should be pretty fast if he held the reins. Noth- 
ing — certainly not horseflesh — should hinder his 
swift following ! and John King knew enough 
about horses to be assured that he could trust a 
good team to make short time over the hard 
road between the village and the town. 

He went to the livery stable at once, leaving 
the group of men and boys idly chatting over 
his conversation. He said little there ; he knew 
whom he could trust and whom he could not. 
This man was bound to keep his secret if he took 
him into his confidence. Very few words he 
used in making known his errand, and a glance 
at a card he showed proved to the liveryman 
that it was to his interest to do his best. 

The liveryman ordered out the lightest buggy 
in the place and the team of freshest horses ; and 
then, not satisfied with this, went himself to see 
that they were put in, and everything secure for 
a wild race over the rough road. He showed 


On the Track, 


H9 


more excitement than the man with the keen 
eyes and the set mouth. He did his utmost for 
him, and earnestly wished the best of fortune in 
the chase for the miser’s niece and the assistant 
in the terrible murder. 

When the rig was ready, John King sprang 
into the buggy and caught up the reins, and, 
with a short word to the horses, went out of the 
stable-yard at a lively pace, though still keeping 
within such bounds as should rouse no surprise 
in the minds of the villagers. Once out of the 
place, his hold of the lines grew tense and 
steady, and the animals, recognizing a master 
behind them, set themselves for good hard work, 
and whirled him over the road at a pace they, 
perhaps, had never been called upon before to 
attempt. 

Fences and barns and horses went reeling 
past like the swift changes in a kaleidoscope ; 
the wheels spun round until the spokes ran 
round and blended mistily like the skein of a 
spider’s web ; there was no dust, but the rapid 
pace sent pebbles now and then flying from the 


250 


Under a Cloud. 


road-bed. The heads of the horses were down 
and their nerves well strung. 

As they hurled along, their coats grew darker 
and darker with the sweat ; foam flecked their 
mouths, but they were under the hands of a 
master, and knew their duty. And John King, 
the detective, the old miser’s hired man, was 
whirled over this rough country road at a 
gait that stirred him even from his own grim 
thoughts. 

No man with a trace of fondness for horse- 
flesh could ride as he was riding with those 
animals, and not feel the blood freshen in his 
veins. They were one with him, inasmuch as 
they were obedient to a word or touch upon the 
reins ; there was a whip, but little need of its 
use. And this reckless riding not only stirred 
his blood, but renewed his courage ; and 
he was certain, his eyes set between the ears 
of his flying horses, that he would be suc- 
cessful. 

The woman must accomplish her errand to 
the lawyer ere she could work any plans, for he 
knew enough of her to be certain that she had 


On the Track. 


251 


no money with her sufficient to take her aw,ay 
from the grasp of the law ; and this she would 
be forced to make certain before she could go 
far in her flight. That she could make her 
demand very reasonable to the lawyer he had 
no doubt; for this woman whom he was follow- 
ing was still sharp enough to choose her words 
well when her safety was at stake. 

He decided, going along, what course he 
should pursue should she have gotten clear 
of the town ere his arrival. The first thing 
for him was to make sure she did enter the 
town. 

At the station he could assuredly learn if such 
a woman left the train, for she was a woman to 
impress any one with her appearance. Then he 
must go to old Hardman’s lawyer, make his 
complaint and the charge against her, and learn 
what amount she secured, and if he possessed 
any clew as to her destination. After that — 
But he could decide upon nothing further until 
he knew that so far he was upon the right 
course. 

He spoke to the horses sharply, and they 


252 


Under a Cloud. 


pricked their ears and stretched their necks and 
strained their every muscle to increase their 
speed. They were not particularly over-fed, and 
a good round meal might be acceptable to 
them ; but they were willing and worked for this 
man as though they were from a stable where 
was given them the best of care and feeding. 
Better horses in their places, with better care 
and better blood in their veins, would undoubt- 
edly have done speedier work at less loss to 
them ; but these animals wer oing their best. 

The road was rough and long, the steep hills 
much against them ; but in very good time they 
struck the town outskirts and dashed down the 
hill and upon the main street. King pulling them 
in to a more sedate pace as they turned into the 
thicker portion of the town. The station was 
his first stopping-place, and there very particu- 
larly he made inquiries regarding the woman, 
describing her so accurately that no one having 
seen her could doubt her identity. But what 
was his disappointment at learning that, so far 
as any one there could tell, no such woman 
entered the town from any train that day. 


On the Track, 


253 ' 


From there, convinced that nothing was to be 
gained from the station hands, either because the 
woman had in truth not come there or because 
she bribed them to silence, he went on to the 
lawyer’s office, in the heart of the town. Here 
he hoped to gain some clew upon which he 
might work ; for he would not give up the 
search if he went the world over, his orders 
being to take her, and take her he would, know- 
ing her guilt. 

This lawyer of old Hardman’s was known to 
Frank Whitney, and it was through his recom- 
mendation John King secured the position upon 
the Hardman farm. The two lawyers had never 
met, but the one knew of the other by reputa- 
tion, and Mr. Whitney knew of this man as asso- 
ciated with the hard old man. 

Wheji John King left the panting horses in 
charge of a boy at the door, ordering him to see 
that they vrere blanketed and walked slowly up 
and down during his stay inside, he went up to 
the lawyer’s office with an assurance, the office- 
boy declared, indignantly, afterward, as though 
he were a millionaire. He sent in his name and 


254 


Under a Cloud. 


a message that his business was peremptory, and 
when, perhaps, informed by the boy of his 
appearance, which was undoubtedly anything 
but reassuring, the lawyer refused to see him, 
offering the plea of being particularly engaged, 
this cool John King, with a shrug of his shoul- 
ders, ordered the boy to return to his master 
and inform him that he was sent by Mr. Whit- 
ney — Mr. Whitney, the lawyer — and that he 
must and would see him at once, and that he, 
refusing to see him, must bear the consequences. 

And the yet more astonished boy did as he 
was bidden, scarcely knowing, himself, why he 
should obey the man. But when he returned, 
saying that his master would see him at once, 
this shrewd boy watched the man enter his 
master’s office with such assurance, in spite of 
his appearance, he eyed him with unbounded 
amazement, and, perhaps, a trifle more respect. 

But of this John King thought little. His 
mind was bent upon his errand, and the rapid 
transaction of such business as called him here. 
Every moment was precious. Every delay 
placed him so much behind in the accomplish- 


On the Track. 


255 


ment of his errand. He knew his power over this 
man and entered his office with the quiet assur- 
ance of one possessed of such knowledge, 
although there was nothing aggressive or 
unmanly in his manner or appearance. Even 
under his rough clothing he proclaimed the 
gentleman. 

“You wish to see me upon some important 
business relative to Mr. Whitney,” said the 
lawyer, turning in his revolving-chair toward 
this strange visitor and eying him sharply from 
under his heavy brows. 

“ I wish to see you upon important business — 
yes,” replied John King, calmly, not seating him- 
self, as the lawyer motioned for him to do, but 
standing easily beside the desk, in his determina- 
tion not to be hindered an instant longer than 
was necessary. “ In one sense it is for Mr. 
Whitney, in another sense it is not.” 

His keen eyes were upon the other’s lifted 
eyes. Both were shrewd men of the world. 
Both recognized that open dealing was best 
between them. 


256 


Under a Cloud, 


“You have a client, Josiah Hardman, who 
lived at Nanuet,” said the detective, quietly. 

The lawyer nodded. The shrewd expression 
in his eyes deepened. 

“ I have a client, Josiah Hardman, who lives at 
Nanuet, yes,” he replied. “ Why do you speak 
of him in the past tense ?” 

“ Because the man is dead,” replied John 
King, calmly. “ Old Hardman died this morning. 
1 was with him at the time — 1, and two other 
detectives, and Mr. Whitney and a young lady — ” 
“You 'are a detective ?” demanded the other, 
interrupting him with a trace of discomfort. 
“And how does it happen — ” 

“ If you will have patience you shall hear in 
one moment what I have to say, and why I am 
here in this disguise,” was the detective’s cool 
reply. “ Old Hardman, as I said, died this morn- 
ing, in the presence of six witnesses. Before he 
died he made such confession as betrayed him 
and his niece, the murderers of your partner, 
for which Roy Hilton was charged. His niece 
being complicated in the affair, as I have said — in 
fact, the greater criminal of the two — I am 


JOHN KING IN MR. WHITNEY S OFFICE.— xS'ee Page 255 






On the Track. 


257 


upon her track. She came here this morning 
for money !” 

The other shook his head, but a pallor was 
upon his face as though he realized the extent of 
this discovery ; as though he feared what more 
this man might know. 

“ You are certain that she has not been here?” 
demanded the detective sternly, his eyes upon 
the agitated face of the lawyer. Or, not com- 
ing herself, that she did not send — ” 

“Wait,” interrupted the other, raising his 
hand for silence. He spoke hurriedly, but there 
was no doubt of his truth. Even this keen man 
with his eyes upon him could not doubt that. 
“ She did not come here herself, no, but she 
sent — ” 

Keen appreciation of the situation flashed into 
those sharp eyes, and a light was upon the quiet 
face of the man standing at the desk. 

“ She sent one of their hired men with an 
order, eh? She is a shrewd woman, that Jane 
Hardman ! But she will not escape. What was 
her excuse for sending for the money — ” 

“ How do you know she did send for money?” 


258 


Under a Cloud. 


demanded the lawyer quickly, as though he 
would have been glad to deny the fact. 

“ Because I have common sense enough to be 
certain she could not go far without money,” 
was the cool rejoinder. “ What was her excuse 
for sending for it, and did she give you any 
hint of where she could be found by letter or 
otherwise if there were need ?” 

“ No,” the lawyer said, and the man watching 
him was assured that he told the truth, She 
sent this man, a big, burly, rough fellow enough, 
with a note asking for a pretty large sum of 
money, saying as her reason for this, that she had 
a large bill to meet upon short demand, and 
must have it. It was plausible enough, and I 
sent the amount. As to where she is bound, I 
have no more idea than yourself. And she^ then, 
committed that murder — and he is dead and she 
gone. Well, well, Mr. King, it’s a strange world 
and stranger people in it ! What will you do 
about the woman ?” 

“ Follow her, of course,” was the quiet reply, 
not a shade of turning upon the grave face. “ I 
shall overtake her and the men before long. I 


On the Track, 


259 


think I can trace them now. I am obliged to 
you for your information. Good morning, sir.” 

He turned from the room as quietly as he 
entered, and passed from the building with that 
exasperating air of being worth so much, accord- 
ing to the office boy’s mind, and beckoning to 
the boy who was "exercising the horses within 
sight of the entrance, he ordered them sent back 
to the stables imthe village, giving the boy a 
pretty fair compensation for this work, and 
returned to the station determined to learn more 
of this big man who had so placed him off the 
scent. 

Now, the station was a large one, and many 
trains with many passengers passed through 
there during the day. At first it was altogether 
impossible for him to gain the faintest information 
which he desired ; but presently he came upon a 
man who had seen such a man leave the down 
train, yes, some hour or so earlier, and after some 
time the same man, or one after his image, 
boarded another train — one of the way trains that 
stopped at all the little stations — bound down 
also, if he remembered rightly. 


26 o 


Under a Cloud. 


At the ticket-office he inquired what tickets 
for way stations had been sold for the accommo- 
dation train ahead, and after some delay and 
considerable suspicion — until he showed his card 
bearing his true name and calling — he was told 
that seven tickets for stations had been sold for 
that train, and securing the names of each of 
these, he bought a ticket for the nearest for him- 
self, and waited with such patience as he could 
command for the next train to follow upon this, 
that he might be upon his way. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

ON THE LAST CAR. 

He was firmly convinced that the woman went 
on to some further station, either some way- 
station or to some large town, and was to wait 
there for her messenger for the money, when 
she would, in all probability, pay them off with a 
good price for silence — he knew the men well 
enough to be certain that they would demand 


On the Last Car. 


261 


a good price for that — and they would then 
doubtless separate. If it were easier to trace 
the men than the women at first, he would do so, 
by that means, perhaps, gaining a clew that 
would lead to the ultimate finding of the woman. 

Noon was past, so the detective, while waiting, 
ate a hearty meal in the station restaurant, know- 
ing that it was impossible to foretell coming cir- 
cumstances, and then resumed his promenade of 
the platform, smoking a cigar, and considering 
the matter from all points. 

He did not have long to wait, for the train he 
was to take came down the track, and he boarded 
it, satisfied that again he was upon his way. 

Way-trains stop longer at stations than an 
express, and he hoped to alight and make his 
inquiries and again board the train if the fugitives 
were gone on. Therefore, when the brakeman 
called out “ Grand View,” he was the first to 
leave the train, and, making his way to the 
porter, inquired of him if such passenger or pas- 
sengers left the forward train there. 

But if he expected immediate reply, he was 
doomed to disappointment, for, after glancing at 


262 


Under a Cloud. 


him in some astonishment, the man hurried away 
to offer his services to some one or two passen- 
gers who alighted after him, and John King, 
muttering an imprecation upon him and his 
stupidity, turned to the express-agent. No, this 
man knew of no such person or persons alighting 
at that station ; but then he seldom did know of 
the passengers from trains ; there was enough to 
do to attend to his business apart from that. 
Still undismayed, although the minutes were 
gone and the starting bell was ringing, John 
King made a last desperate attempt upon the 
station-master himself, whom he had been unable 
to detain when first alighting. This man, too, 
looked at him in some astonishment, but replied 
in the negative after slight' hesitation. The 
train was going. With the bell clanging discord- 
antly and the puff of steam suddenly silenced, the 
wheels began to turn and crawl over the tracks, 
quite unmindful that an agent of justice was 
frantically determined — under as quiet an exterior 
as though nothing out of the common had 
occurred — to learn what he desired, and also to 
catch that train, if he had to cling like a worm to 


On the Last Car. 


263 


the rear rail of the last car. And from this man, 
too, he learned, rather crisply, but to the point, 
that no such person, to his certain knowledge, 
had come upon the platform at that station. 

There was nothing about the man or in his 
manner of reply to waken suspicion of his truth ; 
and John King, thinking of the one thing in his 
favor, dashed off a short dispatch to the next 
small station ; this, with a bank-note into the 
man’s hand, ordered him hurriedly to have it 
sent at once — at once, with stern emphasis upon 
these words ; and then, with a run and a spring, 
he caught at a railing of the rear car, and, shouted 
at by the brakeman and the station-master for 
his daring, scrambled upon the steps and swung 
himself upon the platform, as the train, gathering 
speed, opened its iron throat in a wild scream, 
and dashed along the rails and around the curve 
out of sight of the staring station-master, ere he 
regained his senses enough to know what was 
expected of him. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

WHAT HE DISCOVERED. 

The bank-note at any rate was a reality. 
Entering the station, the station agent at once 
sent the dispatch — a description of the man pur- 
sued, and the order to have ready upon the 
instant of the train’s arrival any information as 
related to such a person ; after which, he and the 
porter and the express-agent compared notes of 
the rough-looking, quiet-faced man who was so 
peremptory in his demand for their knowledge. 

“ It’s a clear case o ’ runaway,” said one of 
these men, in his slow certainty, after a silence 
during which each looked at the other for 
confirmation of their suspicions. “ It’s either 
that or some crime, take my word for it, boys.” 

And as it so happened that the “ boys ” in 



What He Discovered, 


265 


question had no other alternative, they did, in 
truth, take his word for it. 

When John King sprang from the train at the 
next station, his dispatch was received, and he 
met no such hinderance as before. It was a 
larger station and less likely to note its visitors, 
but he did well to telegraph his desire, for other- 
wise he must have lost the train in making 
inquiries. Nevertheless, no such person alighted 
from the train ahead. 

Telegraphing on to the next stopping-place of 
the forward train to learn if such passenger or pas- 
sengers were aboard, and detain them at Jersey 
City if they were, ordering, also, an answering 
dispatch to be at the next station for him, John 
King returned to the car not one whit less 
determined, and not having time to buy tickets, 
paid for his fare upon the train. So far he was 
doing well, and if there came back to him, at 
their next stop, the reply that no such person was 
aboard the train ahead, when it reached its next 
station, he would be assured that those whom he 
pursued were somewhere between those two 
points, and he would be upon the sharper look- 


266 


Under a Cloud. 


out for lying among the station han*ds. For the 
woman would not hesitate to spend money if it 
were necessary now, knowing that so she must 
save her life. 

The general passenger carriage was suffocat- 
ing and stupid, the detective muttered to him- 
self ; and, rising, he went on into the smoker to 
ease his mind and the better think out these 
problems with the aid of a quiet smoke. 

Leaning back comfortably, puffing at his cigar, 
the detective’s eyes were none the less keen 
than when he sat back there in the other car- 
riage, and his mind was quite as clear ; clearer, 
perhaps, soothed by this quieting weed. 

He was a rougher passenger than usually 
entered that car, and the guard eyed him suspi- 
ciously for some time ere he came up to him, 
speaking in a low tone, and inquiring why he 
presented such an odd appearance. There was 
pre];ty good cause for the question, and John 
King, with a slight twinkle of the gray e3^es, 
made no other reply than to close one of these 
eyes very slowly and expressively, and signify 
that handcuffs were in it, by swift but silent 


What He Discovered. 


267 


gestures, and the guard, with an answering wink, 
queried, in a lower tone, if the cove ” were 
aboard ? But when the detective made known 
his errand thus far, he saw no reason for entering 
into further particulars and merely shook his head. 

One of the sly ones, eh ?” queried the guard, 
with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. “ Few 
words, fewer risks, your motto T 

“ No motto about it,'’ replied the detective, 
calmly, puffing at his cigar and offering one to 
his companion. “ It’s the only safe way to keep 
one’s business to one’s self until there is need to 
make it known. You should have learned that 
sooner, my friend — ” 

He paused. Not a movement or change of 
expression betrayed him, but for the moment he 
was so thoroughly amazed that he found no 
words to express himself. It is doubtful, too, if 
he would have made his agitation known to his 
companion could he have done so. Breaking off 
in his remark as though it really were too much 
exertion to talk, and for no other reason, he 
smoked harder than ever— smoked so fiercely, 
in truth, that not a glimpse of his face could be 


268 


Under a Cloud, 


discernible through the wreaths about his head 
and face. 

In one of the forward seats, in plain view of 
him as he leaned to one side, sat — the man for 
whom he was searching ! No doubt of it. His 
hat was pulled over his face, and a villainous 
enough looking face it was in its blended stolidity 
and cunning ; but this could not hide his identity 
from those watchful eyes in the rear seat. 

“ Shrewd — yes,” he muttered between his 
teeth, his eyes straying from the burly figure 
lest his companion should fathom his thoughts. 

More shrewd than I gave him credit for. They 
deserve that encomium. She set him on an up 
train from Nyack, and he took this train from 
one of the smaller stations beyond. Well worth 
my following — these scheming villains !” 

Ready for this emergency as he was for any, 
in spite of its surprise, he drew from one of his 
inner pockets a red wig and mustache, and under 
the eyes of the guard, but unobserved by the 
other passengers, covered his identity so 
thoroughly with the aid of these that his own 
mother would never have recognized him, his 


What He Discovered, 


269 


companion whispered, admiringly. And when 
the train stopped at the station he slipped very 
quietly out, but with his eyes alert for the pos- 
sible alighting also of his burly friend, and 
ascertained that the dispatch was ready for him. 
Taking it from the operator he returned to the 
smoking-car, and, making sure that the man was 
still there, tore open the envelope to learn that — 
two of those persons described were upon the 
forward train, with tickets for New York! 
These two were the woman and the more quiet 
man, Jim. 

“ Oh, it’s all very nice, my fine fellow I” mut- 
tered the detective, with grim satisfaction. “It’s 
all very well, but when once you attempt alight- 
ing at Jersey City you will discover that your 
little game is up 1” 

In confirmation of which threat he alighted at 
the very next station — Tenafly — and sent a dis- 
patch to the city for a couple of men to wait for 
those two passengers upon the forward train. 

“ Maybe they don’t expect to be met at the 
station by anxious friends,” muttered John King; 
“ but they’ll discover it in good time!” 



CHAPTER XXX. 

THE CLOUD LIFTING. 

Roy Hilton, still but a ghost of his former 
self, sat in his wife’s room in the handsome 
house upon the Avenue. He acquired the habit 
of sitting in this room, sometimes for hours 
together, reading nothing, doing nothing but 
thinking, forever thinking. And these thoughts 
of his were not pleasant thoughts ; and every 
day of this strange, lonely, dreaming life, added 
years to his appearance. He was no longer 
light of heart, or swift with the smile that won 
for him so many friends in the old free days. 

It was always of George Chesney at his best 
that he thought, whenever that dark crime rose 
before him. Fever left him with a weakness of 
the brain that could not lift under this added 



The Cloud Lifting, 


271 


sorrow, and he grew sometimes very hard with 
himself, wondering whether or no it were his 
hand that had taken Chesney’s life in that fit of 
insane jealousy, or whether it were strange evil 
of fate that laid upon him, at the height of his 
happiness, the touch of crime. And always, at 
such times and at all, his one greatest thought 
was for his wife. 

The physicians said, when he was slowly recov- 
ering and this strange imagination of the brain 
remained, that he would undoubtedly recover 
when the cause was removed, but not until then. 
And with his friends this meant, perhaps, for- 
ever ; for few knew of the struggle his wife and 
Frank Whitney were undertaking to prove that 
no hint of guilt could touch the quiet man, shut 
in his lonely life, seeing few of the many friends 
who called daily to learn of his condition and 
left tokens of their thoughtfulness in flowers and 
fruit to tempt his thoughts to lighter things. 
And out of all these gifts there was one that 
came as promptly as the day dawned, and which 
he knew would come, with a certainty pathetic 
in its very eagerness — an exquisite bouquet of 


272 


Under a Cloud, 


white roses and forget-me-nots and lilies of the 
valley — always the same, always from the same 
source, he knew. 

And if the sender could have seen how he laid 
his thin face among their blossoms and whispered 
— foolishly, perhaps — of Helen and her brave 
heart, her grave, proud face growing daily more 
white and thin, might have taken on a deeper 
sadness. But no eyes ever saw this weakness in 
him. He was quiet and still and very grave in 
the presence of others, but the same proud man 
who won his wife from them all. 

Everything was still in the house — strangely 
still, it seemed to him, suddenly waking to the 
fact, and he started and touched the bell beside 
him. Nothing had happened — nothing, was the 
reply given when his call was answered. Was 
there anything he desired ? Water, perhaps, or 
wine, or a little something to eat ? Nothing, he 
answered to them all, and sank down again to 
watch the flowers and to think. 

And then — was it immediately after that, or 
had hours gone past? — he did not know. 


The Cloud Lifting. 


273 


There was a light tap upon his door, and 
Frank Whitney entered. 

He smiled upon him when he knew who it 
was ; but the smile was so full of sadness and the 
bravery of a soul that would not yield to its 
weight of sorrow, that this friend turned his face 
aside for an instant that it should not meet his 
eyes. Then he crossed the soft carpet and held 
out his hand. There was something so quiet 
and contented about this simple gesture that the 
younger man — younger in years but ages older 
in sorrow — did not take the hand at once, but 
leaned back among his cushions, a new pallor 
striking his face, his eyes searching the quiet 
face above him. 

“ I am foolishly weak to-day, Whitney,” he 
said, slowly, his eyes never leaving his friend’s 
face. “ You will bear with me — you will always 
bear with my weaknesses !” 

Again that slow, sad, infinitely sad smile. 

'' It seemed to me, as I looked at you, that 
something was in your face — something that has 
not been there these many days — ay, months for 


Under a Cloud, 


274 


that matter! But I am weak still, and you 
know the dreaming of idle minds 

Frank Whitney smiled down into those 
searching eyes, and held in his for a long 
minute the hand of his friend. He stood beside 
him, too, rather aimlessly. He had been here 
every day when it was possible during the long 
winter of trial, and yet never before was he 
so possessed with this feeling of restraint. 
Even his eyes could not long rest upon those 
steady, searching, lifted blue eyes looking out 
from that pale, proud face. Unconsciously his 
gaze strayed to the flowers upon the stand beside 
his friend. 

“ How beautiful they are I” he said, with no 
special forethought. “An emblem of the 
sender — ” 

Then he bit his lip. He did not know how 
his friend would take such a remark bearing 
upon something that he held almost his own by 
right of the tie between himself and the beauti- 
ful woman whose white hands arranged them, 
whose proud lips may have been — who knows ? 


The Cloud Lifting. 


275 


— pressed upon the spotless petals ere they went 
upon their errand of love ! 

He caught the flash in the steady eyes shining 
out of that proud face upon the cushions, and 
turning away, walked to the window, still in that 
aimless, restless fashion so new to him, self-pos- 
sessed man as he was. 

Those steady eyes noted this strange restless- 
ness, and Roy asked, after a moment of utter 
silence : 

What is it, Frank? You have something to 
tell me. You need not try to hide it. Tell me 
at once. No matter what it is, I can bear it — 
anything !” 

Frank Whitney stopped instantly, catching 
this low, excited voice. He turned, and Roy 
had half risen from his chair — for Roy was still 
so weak he scarcely ever left this chair for long 
— and crossing to him, pressed him back in the 
chair with his kind hands upon his shoulders, a 
smile upon his face. He would have spoken, but 
at that moment he heard the fall of light feet in 
the hall, and, facing the door, he saw it open, and 
then — But he knew what was to come, and 


276 


Under a Cloud, 


turned away to give room to the woman who 
entered, who had a right to enter, who had 
supreme right to the place beside the proud, 
startled man in her chair beside the window in 
her room. 

“ Helen !” he tried to articulate, but the power 
of voice was gone for the moment, and he could 
but reach out his arms to her, those marvelous 
eyes upon her face with a wild light of blended 
questioning, fear and love, and then — they were 
alone, and she was pouring out her heart in 
incoherent whisperings, once more kneeling 
beside him, his arms about her, her face more 
beautiful than ever ; that proud, sweet face had 
been, as it lay, quite hidden from any other eyes 
but his, upon his shoulder. 

“ Is it true ?” he whispered, by and by, when 
he could find voice. “You said we must never 
meet again, Helen, until — until I was proved 
innocent beyond even the doubt of my worst 
enemy ; and yet you are here — ” 

“ And it is proved,” she whispered, as softly 
and as tenderly, not moving from her resting 


A Traitorous Friend. 


277 


place. “ The cloud has been cleared utterly 
away, and my husband rises out of it a new man 
a brave, true, noble, wonderful — oh, a wonderful 
man to me, indeed — to me, his wife !” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A TRAITOROUS FRIEND. 

A quiet-appearing man walked up the steps 
and rang the bell at the Stuart house upon the 
Avenue the next morning. He was plainly but 
well dressed, and had the air of one accustomed 
to being obeyed. When the footman demurred 
at his demand to be taken to Mr. Hilton, he 
silenced the man by the simple statement that he 
was expected and must be shown up at once. 
And although still unconvinced, the man obeyed. 

Frank Whitney, who was in the room with 
Roy and his wife, Mr. Stuart and Helen’s mother 
and Miss Kittie Belaire, stepped forward upon 
his entrance, and smiling, introduced him to 
those present. 


278 


Under a Cloud. 


“ Mr. Cunningham, otherwise known as John 
King, and still better known as old Hardman’s 
hired man, in Nanuet,” he said. It is to him 
we owe this happiness, Hilton. He has worked 
like a beaver to obtain the truth, but he gained 
it like a man. You must allow me to congratu- 
late )^ou, Cunningham.” 

Mr. Cunningham bowed. He was as self- 
possessed as when chasing the fugitives along the 
railway ; but this was another affair. Then, too, 
he had not finished his work, and until that was 
accomplished he could not yield his professional 
sternness. 

“ You know why I am here, Mr. Whitney,” he 
said. He addressed Frank Whitney because 
they transacted all this business together. “We 
have succeeded so far well enough, but there is 
the other still to do.” 

“ Yes,” said Frank Whitney, quickly, “ I know, 
Cunningham. The only thing against it is that 
Mrs. Hilton has been waiting for a full half-hour 
to keep her engagement to drive with him. It 
begins to look as though he was not coming. 
Perhaps he has heard of this. You caught the 


A Traitorous Friend. 


279 

woman and the men? They were secured at 
Jersey City.” 

The woman and one of the men,” replied the 
detective, particular as to facts. “ One of the 
men, you remember, was on the train with me 
and I took him. But they are all pretty safe at 
present, excepting this other one. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Whitney, decisively. “ Well, 
what is to be done with this other one, Cunning- 
ham ? He was to be here a half-hour ago. He 
could not have learned of the old man’s death, 
because we took good care it should not get into 
the papers until we were sure of them all. These 
confederates of his could not have warned him, 
because they had no opportunity — ” 

“ Unless they did so during the time they were 
free upon the road,” suggested the detective, 
quietly, a gleam in his eyes. 

“By Jove — yes!” exclaimed Mr. Whitney, in 
more excitement than he usually indulged. 
“ Why didn’t we think of that before ? They 
could have easily telegraphed him at any station. 
No one has seen him since that happened. He 


Under a Cloud. 


280 


was not at the club last night, or anywhere^ so far 
as I know !” 

And he was to have taken Ninette Silverham 
to Mrs. Courtney’s conversazione C said Helen. 
“ It was Mrs. Courtney’s last entertainment for 
the season, as they start for Europe next week, 
and it isn’t like him to fail in such a matter. 
Nevertheless, I shall be glad if he is gone,” she 
added, stoutly. She moved to one of the 
windows facing the street, where Kittie Belaire 
was standing, and her husband sat at her other 
side. “ I am glad if he has gone, Frank ! If he 
knows of this, his conscience and the thought of 
his disgrace are punishment enough ! Let him 
go, if not for his own sake, at least for his 
mother’s. She is a lovely woman.” 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

“ LET HIM GO !” 

“ I say, too, let him go,” said Hilton, very 
quietly. 

But it is the law, Mr. Hilton,” said the 
detective, sturdily. “ The man hasn't any right 
to go clear! He’s made himself liable for 
bribery and blackmail, and it would do me con- 
siderable good to punish him for it. Even if he 
is one of those wealthy young fellows about 
town, he has no right to bribe men to hurt other 
men’s characters ! And as he did this thing — 
we’ve got the very men whom he bribed, and 
know all about it ! — he ought to suffer for it. It 
wouldn’t hurt him much.” 

Frank Whitney laughed. 

** That is what I say, Cunningham ! I’m none 


282 


Under a Cloud. 


too soft-hearted toward him, when I think what 
he has done and would do now, no doubt, did he 
not know he has been discovered ! I wish he 
would come, or that we could know what he has 
done.” 

“We might send to his house and inquire,” 
suggested the detective, with an impatient frown. 
It was all very well for women to wish the man 
away, but for his part, he would much rather 
have him punished. 

This suggestion was acted upon at once. A 
messenger-boy was summoned and sent with a 
note to his house. He was to wait for a reply. 
It was full a half-hour after the time appointed 
for the engagement. They could have little hope 
of his keeping it. It was pretty clear that the 
man they wished to see — that two out of the 
group would give considerable to see — had 
escaped punishment, and gone, perhaps, the 
width of the world apart from them ! 

“ He could so easily have secured passage out 
on some one of the steamers either yesterday or 
to-day, or even have, started for San Francisco to 
sail from there,” said Frank Whitney, discontent- 


Let Him Go / 


283 


<< 


edly. He was walking to and fro with his hands 
behind him and a frown upon his face. 

“ We can still telegraph to all ports and make 
sure,” suggested Cunningham. 

“ No,” said Roy, and he said it with his old 
decided manner. His old manner was slowly 
returning to him with this new happiness 
although it would take months to bring back his 
health and appearance. If he has gone, let him 
go. We will not have him traced. If he does 
not come here, he may go where he will; I am 
content.” 

“ And so am I,” said his wife, softly. She let 
Miss Kittie’s hand fall and laid hers upon his 
shoulder very gently. She was so proud of her 
husband ! “ Even father says he would not have 

the man punished, if for no other reason than for 
the added scandal. You know we talked of that 
last evening ; father here remembers ;” and she 
smiled across at the stern man at the table. 

Still,” said Frank Whitney, laughing, as he 
crossed over to Miss Kittie’s side—she was sit- 
ting a little apart from the others and looked 
remarkably graceful and pretty— “ still, Mrs. 


284 


Under a Cloud. 


Hilton, it isn’t quite safe to take part with any 
one so clearly outraging the law when one of 
the law’s agents is present! You make yourself 
accessory to the deed by wishing to shield 
him—” 

“ I’m not shielding him,” said Helen, smiling. 
“ But we have had enough of courts and law for 
a long, long while, and we will be much happier’ 
when we have done with them. We owe you 
so much, Mr. Cunningham, this sounds like 
treason ; but it is the other side of the law I 
mean that we would be rid of !” 

‘‘And there are so many strange turns and 
twists in the law,” said Miss Kittie, with remark- 
able grayity. She was leaning back in her chair, 
and Mr. Whitney stood beside her, so that her 
face was within his view. She was very daring 
in her remarks, too, with her employer beside 
her. 

“ After all,” said this quiet lawyer, with a flash 
of laughter in his eyes, still looking down into 
those dark eyes, “ after all, who knows but our 
charming friend may come in upon us in spite of 
our hopes and fears ? We have no certain knowl- 


“ Let Him Go / 


285 


edge that he has gone ; and I warn you, Miss 
Kittie, if he does come within our reach he will 
have as great abhorrence of the law as even you 
could have, professed to be such a devoted 
admirer of it as you are, away from this room.” 

“ But I have to make believe I am deeply 
interested in it,” she said, wickedly — there was a 
nervousness upon them all, although they talked 
so eagerly and would not let silence fall upon the 
room — “ because it is the only way I can earn 
my living, Mr. Whitney.” 

Was she teasing him again? He frowned and 
bit his lip ; but she still looked very cool and 
innocent, leaning back among the puffy blue 
cushions, and, manlike, he could not determine 
whether he were angry or pleased with this 
tormenting w'oman. 

Whether there would have followed any argu- 
ment upon this subject no one can say, for at 
that moment the footman announced the messen- 
ger returned, with the message that there was 
no reply — 

“ Mr. Neil Carlton having gone abroad.” 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

ANOTHER TRIAL. 

Once more, from floor to gallery, the court 
room was crowded ; but this time the sea of faces, 
the rows of windows with their dingy panes, and 
the low spring winds, were turned upon another 
face in the prisoner’s dock — a woman’s face. 
Not one touch of stain rested longer on the fair 
fame and upright character and proud blood of 
Roy Hilton. Every whisper, when of him, was 
to his good. He had started to come up with 
Chesney, to take back his bitter words, fighting 
down that mad passion that would have ruined 
his life had he allowed ; but missing him, came 
out upon the cart-track scarcely ten minutes 
after the terrible crime was committed, and 
hastened to the village, still in hopes of overtak- 


Another Trial, 


287 


ing Chesney, still fighting the demon in his heart 
that struggled for mastery. 

Again this crowd surged and breathed 
revengefully, and still sat in utter silence 
through the trial. Roy Hilton was there and 
his beautiful young wife, no veil hiding her 
exquisite face from the gaze of the crowd ; and 
Miss Kittie and Mr. Whitney, and Graham and 
Manning and the others of that hunting-party. 
John King was there, of course, and the boy. 
Poor Tom Day had friends now whom he might 
never have had but for these strange turnings of 
the wheel of fortune. For Roy Hilton took him 
from the dreary farm and into his own home. 

The presentation of the case for prosecution 
was clear, and the evidence tightening more and 
more about those fine, unyielding webs of steel 
about the prisoner’s hands. 

The counsel stated the case for defense in a 
few words when it came to summing up the evi- 
dence. There was so little that could be said 
unless he chose to talk on aimlessly, and that he 
knew the crowd would never bear if the court 
would. And how startlingly strong was the 


288 


Under a Cloud, 


summing up of the evidence for prosecution ! 
They feared George Chesney, because he knew 
too much of their mode of securing the money 
they loved. He knew, as partner of this Hard- 
man’s lawyer, of transactions that would have 
placed them behind prison bars if he had whis- 
pered them against them. The farm he declared 
was so heavily mortgaged — of which he held 
the mortgage — was clear of debt, but through 
his shrewdness and his daring he had such 
papers as were necessary to give him the hold 
he needed upon this prosperous farm, and he 
took the boy — whether because of some slight 
prick of conscience, or because he feared to 
have him beyond his reach, who knew ? — and no 
one dared question his right, knowing what man- 
ner of man he was. 

And his lawyer was very shrewd, too! That 
lawyer in the town. He drew up the papers 
for a “ consideration,” and they were signed by 
witnesses, and that was all that was needed with 
the forged signature upon them, and so the farm 
passed into this miser’s hands, and the boy was 


MISS KITTLE BELAIKE, SMILING, INTRODUCED HIM.— Page 277 










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Another Trial. 


289 


defrauded and given a home where a home 
should have been given, indeed ! 

And this wise lawyer was missing, too, when 
he was wanted; not a trace did he leave whereby 
to follow him. And there were other things as 
hard against the miser which George Chesney 
could tell if he would, for he was a keen business 
man, and as unyielding as a stone where honor 
was questioned. And so it had come about that 
they would be rid of this troublesome lawyer, 
and they sent for him upon “ important busi- 
ness,” and he threatened them with exposure 
and they followed him through the woods — the 
old man and his niece — he waiting in the thicket 
with his rifle, well-assured that a rifle shot would 
attract no attention — the woods being a hunting- 
ground — and the woman creeping stealthily 
along the thicket keeping watch. 

And when the old man, softened by the pleas- 
ant face and pleasant voice calling for compan- 
ionship, would have let his enemy go unharmed, 
this woman would not have it so. When lie 
faltered, and the instant for the deed had almost 
passed without its occurrence, even lowering 


290 


U^ider a Clotid. 


the rifle and shrinking back among the rough 
briers and scrubby bushes — then she, this 
woman, sprang to his side, tore the rifle from the 
old man’s trembling hands, and sent the ball her- 
self that ended Chesney’s life. 

All this was witnessed by the boy, who fol- 
lowed the man and the woman — drawn by some 
subtle attraction — who hid himself in the under- 
brush and waited what must come. He did not 
realize that this was murder upon which they 
were bent, and when his horrified eyes saw the 
deed, he did not dare to stir or cry out from 
fear. And afterward he saw Roy Hilton come 
out through the thicket unconscious of the ter- 
rible crime, and then he stole away with this 
terror on his mind, and had not dared breathe 
it until it was told the detective. And so the 
boy they had so wronged by fraud and greed, 
turned upon them and convicted them. 

And then there was a slight stir throughout 
this vast crowd. The jury returned. They 
gave their verdict. Each in his turn replied in 
one word what his decision was upon the 


Sunlight, 


291 


prisoner. Guilty ! The silence of death fell 
over the crowd. The judge was passing sen- 
tence upon the prisoner : 

“To be hung by the neck until you are dead.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

SUNLIGHT. 

Fourteen months, and it was the heart of 
summer. The mountains were very peaceful 
with the hush of nature over them. The water 
was shadowed by their mighty forms pressing 
so close upon the edge. Out toward the middle 
of the lake the blue heavens were reflected 
deeper in color, with more mystical clouds float- 
ing across it than overhead. The cry of a bird 
now and then fell musically through this silence, 
and again the murmur of soft laughter and 
voices telling of happy hearts, was borne along 
upon the faint breeze that stole down between 
the pines, like a messenger of dryads hidden in 
the dim woods. 


Under a Cloud. 


2g^ 


A group of young people were on the hotel 
piazza overlooking the lake — a group of young 
men, good-looking and good-natured, as though 
the world were running pretty smoothly through 
the quiet of the mountains — as it should run — 
this old world — with those sturdy hearts ready 
to meet it with the gentler hearts of their com- 
panions. 

“Where is Helen?” asked a sweet young 
girl, arranging her pretty gown of pale blue so 
that the merest tip of a tiny slipper peeped into 
view, as she sat on the upper step of the piazza, 
recklessly unconscious that a pair of handsome 
masculine eyes were upon her piquant face. 
“Where is Helen? She has been invisible the 
whole day, and you all know that I am incon- 
solable without my beauty.” 

“ Helen is out upon the lake with her hus- 
band, Carlie,” answered another bright feminine 
voice. The girl who spoke was nearly invisible 
in the great bamboo chair with its cushions. 
There was a light fall of silk oi pallid gold glim- 
mering from that to the piazza floor and around 
the tiny feet crossed so artlessly, and a slim 


Sunlight. 


293 


whitv hand was lying with careless grace upon 
one of the red cushions. 

The Babel of pretty voices, the confusion of 
masculine tones intermingled, hinting of bright 
eyes and light hearts, drifted down to the quiet 
lake, where at that moment, out from the 
shadow of the trees near the bank, a couple of 
canoes came lightly, floating like the dainty film 
of clouds upon the blue heaven above. 

The paddles just stirred the surface of the 
lake into faint ripples that widened and widened 
into long curves of dancing sparkles and flecks 
of jet, as though the light of the upper world 
and the shadow of the lake’s heart were strug- 
gling for mastery, and only peace could con- 
quer when the ripples died. 

Two canoes, the paddles in each managed by 
young men — handsome, light-hearted, showing 
that the world went well with them and nothing 
but such ripples as struck the lake’s surface 
could mar their peace. But two young men 
would not be so gay and light of heart and 
happy, paddling by themselves even upon such 
a lake as that. And two young men— or one 


294 


U7ider a Cloud 


young man — could never possess such a musical 
voice as the one chiming very sweetly along 
with the breeze in dainty song. And then two 
young men could never picture such evident 
realities as the charming young woman in the 
stern of each canoe ! And no picturing could 
rival the brightness and the pleasantness of the 
realities sitting so easily and gracefully before 
them ! 

“ Oh, it’s very nice, very nice, indeed !” said 
one of these bright realities, with a soft laugh 
upon her red lips and the lashes obstinately 
hiding the dark-gray eyes as one small hand 
went trailing along the water where the lights 
and shadows were so magically blended. “ It 
couldn’t be more perfect if it tried — this day ! I 
think I should like ” — how very distinctly and 
tantalizingly she uttered the words ! — “ I think I 
should like very much to bring out all those 
dreadful law books and sink them down, down, 
down, with due solemnity, into the bottomless 
depths of this lake, FranK Whitney ! They 
could not find a more fitting grave! Perhaps 


Sunlight, 


295 


then you could bear to have me say that I am 
tired — ” 

“ Not of me ?” interrupted her companion, 
quickly. “ You would not be so cruel as that, 
Kittie.” 

Still he never knew what this young woman 
was likely to say. 

“ W-e-11,” said Miss Kittie, with a deep sigh, 
and she took her hand from the water and wiped 
it very sedately and carefully upon a dainty 
film of handkerchief, “ it is pretty difficult to 
decide upon that at such short notice, Frank 
Whitney. What I really wished to say is — if 
you would only not interrupt me so often — that 
I am tired of being cross any longer, and — 
maybe — '' 

“ Oh, I see !” said the young man, with sudden 
smiling upon his lips. “ For that I will forgive 
you any other unkindness you may have offered 
me, Kittie Belaire. And in return I shall ask 
you — ” 

“ No ; don*t !" protested Miss Kittie, with great 
haste, turning her eyes away from the light in 
his. “ Helen and her husband are coming this 


296 


Under a Cloud, 


way — and — and the piazza is in full view — and 
it is just as nice — by moonlight — ” 

“ Well !” retorted the young man, dipping the 
paddle very deliberately in the shining water, 
his eyes upon the turned, eloquent face. “ You 
are the strangest little bit of womanhood I ever 
came across, Kittie Belaire. But the moonlight 
and the piazza may be more appropriate for 
what I have to say than the open lake, especially 
as Hilton and his wife are coming.” 

At that moment, the other canoe came in sight 
again ; they started different ways ; and the soft 
drift of song from the beautiful lips of the woman 
at the stern blended too musically upon the 
tender air for further harsh words of any lover’s 
quarrel. 

“There is no place in all the world like Loon 
Lake for mystery,” declared this beautiful 
woman, as the two canoes glided side by side and 
drifted on over the exquisite surface, as though 
there were not anywhere in the wide world, 
indeed, any place of disquiet or the struggle for 
life. 

“ And no one in the world who looks so charm- 


Sunlight. 


297 


ing upon it,” added Miss Kittie, with a soft touch 
of laughter in her voice, though her friends knew 
quite well the depth of her sincerity and admira- 
tion for this friend of hers. “ If it were possible 
for me to be more jealous than I am at this 
minute, I should think the fates might have made 
me more like yourself, Helen. I don’t wonder 
poor Tom adores you, or,” again that wicked 
hint of more than was uttered in her soft voice — 
“ or the perfect belief your husband has in you.” 

“ If 1 did not believe in my wife,” said Roy, 
and he was once more the bronzed-faced, hand- 
some, agreeable man of old, though still there 
was a gravity upon him that his trial must leave 
upon him, being the man he was — “ if 1 did not 
believe in my wife, I would forever blush for my 
lack of manliness. Miss Kittie. There is no other 
woman in the world like her.” 

“ Plenty of them, Roy,” said his wife, laughing ; 
but the eyes meeting his were sweet with 
pleasure at his praise. “ You have never looked 
for them or you would have had no trouble to 
discover many.” 

“ But, then, they would not be your wife,” 


298 


Under a Cloud. 


interposed Miss Kittie, calmly. “ That makes so 
much difference, Helen, dear.” 

“ And Roy being my husband,” said Helen, 
laughing, ‘‘of course, I have the utmost faith in 
him and his belief — every one has — every one, 
now.” 

“ And always,” added Frank Whitney, quietly ; 
but he could not meet Miss Kittie’s eyes as he 
said this, for he remembered the confession he 
made to her of his distrust of his friend when 
most he was tried. But Miss Kittie was not the 
woman to repeat such words — ever. 

“Ask Tom, if you doubt it,” added Miss 
Kittie, merrily, with a dash of her hand into the 
cool surface of the quiet lake. “ Ask Tom.” 

“ And the two men who were let off so easily 
at the trial through his intercession,” added the 
lawyer, gravely. 

“ Ask any one,” continued Helen, very softly, 
her shining eyes upon her husband’s face. “ Ask 
my father ; ask his friends — any one.” 

“ And so, with such friends as this,” said Roy, 
gently, a smile in his eyes, though his voice was 
grave, and there was a deepening of the new 


Sunlight. 


299 


expression that had come upon his face since 
that trial, and so even that dark cloud that hid 
for so long the sunlight has drifted quite away, 
and happiness has returned to my wife — and 
me.” 

“ And your friends through you,” said Frank 
Whitney, smiling. “ And even the evil wish of 
that traitorous friend who would have spoiled 
your life, could not harm you — or your wife.” 

“ No,” said Roy, gravely, his eyes straying to 
the solemn mountains, where the shadows of 
falling twilight were deepening. ‘‘ No ; I am 
glad he went away, and that we let him go. 
Wherever he is, I wish him no harm. I have 
but one regret, and that is that George left me 
with my harsh words in his heart. He was such 
a noble fellow.” 

“ The humiliation of the defeat was enough 
for Neil Carleton,” said Helen, after a moment’s 
pause, her eyes, too, following her husband’s 
over the stretch of mysterious lake to the tower- 
ing depths of the water. “ I wish him no harm, 
either. And I think— I am sure, Roy— that 
George knows. If peace could fall upon all the 


300 


Under a Cloud. 


world as it has fallen upon us, it would be my 
greatest wish that it should be over evil and 
good, over just and unjust — over all.” 

“ That wish is like you,” said Kittie, softly ; 
and there was a glimmer as of tears in her eyes, 
but she turned them down upon the shadowed 
lake, that none should know. “ Like you — and 
your husband, Helen Hilton.” 

And the ripple of the water against the prow 
of the canoes as they glided on toward the shore, 
was like the faint echo of the wish from the 
mysteries of the great lake where no sunlight 
ever fathomed the darkness. 


THE END, 


EUGENIE GRANDET 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


Honore De Balzac. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAGAN. 


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Spr lins, Bruises, External Poisons, 
Tooths che, Asthma or Internal Pain, 
Cramps or Spasms-of Stomach, Colic, 
Bites of Animals, Galls of all kinds, 
Sitfast, Rinsrbone, Spavins, 

Poll Evil, Garjret in Cows, Sweeney, 
Scratches or Grease, Stringhalt, 

Foot Rot in Sheep, Windfalls, 

Roup in Poultry, Fistula, 

Lame Back, Foundered Feet, 

Cracked Heels, Manure in Does, etc. 
Manufactured at Lockport, N. Y., by 
MERCHANT’S GARGLING OIL CO. 

JOHN HODGE. Seo’y. 



Mothers, Save Y our Children 

from diphtheria and other contagious diseases by using in your Nursery, 
Bath, and Sleeping Rooms the SHERMAN “KING” VAPORIZER, 
the ONLV Contlnuouit and Absolute Disinfectant 

KNOWN, PROVED, AND WARRANTED. 

With its use, (looking Odors, and that deadly, secret, invisible enemy, 
Sewer Gns, mid all other Noxious Vapors, are rendered harmless. 



PuRn Air 

INSURED BY USING 

The Sherman "King” Vaporizei 

Self-Acting, 

Continuous, Inexpensive, Reliable. 

ALL IMPURE AND OFFENSIVE ODORS 
ABSOLUTELY REMOVED. 

Ench Vaporizer sold is charged for nse. 
No core except to replenish once In two 
months, at expense of 4 to 8 cents, nccord* 
InsT to sizp* Three sizes* $3*50* S3«00f 
$8.00. Illustrated Pamphlet free. 

SHERMAN "KINa” VAPORIZER COMPANY, 
Chicopee Falls, Mass.; Boston, New York, 
Philadelphia, or Chicago. 





HAVE FOUND IT 


match 


HANDS 


ONDONIOOYE ARS , INTERNATIONAL AWARDS. 


IT.'^ A BRIGHT HEALTHFUL SKIN AND COMPLEKION ENSURED BV USINO 

f PEARS’ SOAP. 

|fer AS RECOMMENDED BY THE GREATEST ENGLISH AUTHORITY ON THE SKIN, 

Prof. SIR ERASMUS WILSON, F.Ji.S, Pres, of the Royal Col. of Surgeons, 
England, and ALL other Leading Authorities on the Skin. 


AND PREFER PEARS» SOAP TO ANY OTHER. 

The following from the world-renowned Songstress is asample of thousands of Testimonials. 

Testimonial from Madame AD£LJNA PATTI, • 

“T HAVE FOUND IT MATCHLESS FOR ^ ' O 

ItHE HANDS AND COMPLEXION” ^ e ^ ^ 

^ears^ Soap is tor Sale through- ^ ^ 

^Swont the Civilized World, — ■ 












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